


Focus (on Me)

by ellipsisthegreat



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-22
Updated: 2011-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-26 10:17:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellipsisthegreat/pseuds/ellipsisthegreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jim Kirk meets Leonard McCoy, sparks fly. (Okay, so they’re actually fireballs, and Jim and Leonard don’t really meet until after, but the point is that they do.) What follows is magic, pure and simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> **Link to Fic @ LJ:** [for magic](http://ellipsisthgreat.livejournal.com/14325.html)  
>  **Link to Art:** [for sights](http://kaiserkuchen.livejournal.com/261625.html)  
>  **Link to Mix:** [for sounds ](http://summerslaughter.livejournal.com/88066.html)
> 
> I never really expected for this fic to turn into the monster it became. It all started with this image of hobo!Bones on a barstool that I didn’t know what to do with until I read this short story called ‘A Matter of Focus’ by Penny Buchanan (from a collection of short stories called ‘Sword and Sorceress XIX’). For those of you who have read it: yes, that means Bones' character is based on a female troll. (She’s nicer than he is, though.) ANYHOW. I went in thinking it would be this nice, short little one- or two-shot, but then it just kept going and going and suddenly it had become my Big Bang!
> 
> I need to send COPIOUS THANKS AND COOKIES AND LOVE to [tresa_cho](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tresa_cho/pseuds/tresa_cho) for dealing with my laziness and procrastination and horrendous grammar/writing style. I feel like I’ve learned tons about writing during all this, and I know my story is about a zillion times better thanks to her. She saved me from making some silly mistakes and a few glaringly horrendous ones, haha.
> 
> Also, many apologies and thanks to my artist and mixer, who didn’t get Part V and on of my story until, uh, last week. OTL [kaiserkuchen](http://kaiserkuchen.livejournal.com/261625.html) has been especially awesome, since she’s stalwartly gone through with finishing her art for this even though there was massive flooding in Thailand right smack dab in the middle of BB season! Her art’s amazing, she’s doubly amazing, and I am so incredibly grateful for everything she’s done for my story! <333 Thanks also to [summerslaughter](http://summerslaughter.livejournal.com/88066.html) for an amazing mix!
> 
> Thanks also to the girls from Word Wars over at the [jim_and_bones comm](http://jim-and-bones.livejournal.com/) for cheerleading me on! Wouldn’t have finished without you, ladies!
> 
> I can’t believe it’s finally over - I’m probably going to cry, soon, but I don’t know if they’ll be tears of sadness or relief. LOL.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys my story! <3

" _there is enough magic here  
inside this one word  
to change our world forever_

Love"

  
_-Joseph Mayo Wristen, 'magic to change the world'_   


Jim is drunk again.

It's the only way he can use magic—by drinking.

That's what got him kicked out of the Academy, of course. So what if he can't find a familiar or some inanimate focus for his magic? So what if he has to be flat out drunk to perform a halfway decent spell?

And, yeah, he knows it's dangerous. He knows there are rules for a reason, and that people have died or killed whilst using liquor magic. But, hell, most of the "magicians" in his village abuse it, and nothing too tragic has ever happened.

Granted, none of them have even a fraction of the power he possesses. They're so inconsequential they go unnoticed even by the Academy, which claims to oversee all magicians. It isn't fair that they're left alone (or maybe just waved off as being useless with or without alcohol and/or a focus) while he gets thrown to the dogs.

Also…he's probably more dangerous now, with no one around to make sure he doesn't do something phenomenally stupid. Which, okay, he'll admit he does a lot even when he's stone cold sober.

A jolt hits the bar. His grip tightens around the handle of his mug, stopping it from tipping over. He glances down the bar, past the other regulars pretending they didn't notice the sudden movement. When he sees the three men standing there, getting louder as they get drunker, he sighs and looks back down at his drink.

He has been tracing runes into the dew on the side of his pint. Every once in a while, when his stomach stops clenching from the rancid taste, he takes a sip. He isn't sure how many he's had so far, but he's not drunk yet—he still recognizes the beer in his glass as being utter shit. He could probably throw together a spell or two in a pinch.

But he definitely shouldn't be thinking like that. Liquor magic is dangerous. Liquor being the basest of all focuses, empathizing with anyone who drinks it. It's what academics call a universal magic accelerant, and what everyone else thinks of as the tinder that can be lit by any magic under any circumstances. And because it must be ingested to be used, and ingesting it makes the magician drunk…

Needless to say, many Magicians who use liquor magic end up on the wrong end of their spells, or worse, accidentally turn on some innocent bystander.

Even disregarding the dangers of liquor magic, Jim doesn't know any good "fuck off, asshole" spells—none good enough to fend off the jerks at the other end of the bar, leastways.

They're currently badgering some older fellow. The old guy's paying more attention to his beer than to them, but Jim's sure they'll make their way down to his side of the bar. It's just a matter of waiting until they realize they're being ignored.

Not only that, but Jim recognizes Old Guy as a regular, here.

(He's kind of depressed to note that that means _he_ _'_ _s_ a regular, here, but what can you do?)

Old Guy is scruffy, with huge bags under his eyes, which are as close to being completely closed as they can be without, y'know, actually being closed. He's wearing the same clothes he's been wearing for gods know how long (Jim has it on good authority—which is to say, his own—that the barkeep has dumped a bucket of water on him at least once to get rid of some of the stench). Oddly, although his beard is peppered gray, his hair is mostly black. Or, er, not black, exactly. Such a dark brown it might as well be black, but Jim's never been good with distinguishing shades of color—who cares about the difference between walnut and caramel, anyhow?—so…mud brown? Shit brown? Whatever, it's fucking _dark_ _brown_ , with not a lot of gray, which gives Jim the impression Old Guy isn't actually all that old.

Not to mention that Old Guy has a body on him. He's kind of hunched over his drink, but his clothes are old and slightly tattered and a bit tight. Jim can see a hint of muscle in the man's back and biceps when Old Guy shifts in his seat and casts an irritated and mildly disgusted, look at the three lugs giving him a hard time. And then there are his hands. Big enough to fit nearly all the way around his pint, and surely big enough that, when backed by the muscles in his arms, would pack quite a punch should Old Guy ever decide to retaliate.

But Old Guy doesn't do much of anything except sit quietly and drink until last call, when he pays his tab and stumbles out into the night without any sort of pomp and circumstance. Most of the patrons leave him be, at least until then (Jim doesn't know how they treat him outside of the bar), but these guys are apparently out of touch with the proper barroom etiquette.

And, hey, it isn't really any of Jim's business. But…well, the Academy's shrink said he has a nice big Hero Complex with a dash of Gross Self-Negligence. A fancy way of saying he can't leave well enough alone even if it means he's gonna get the ever-loving shit beaten out of him.

So he looks at those runes again, and whaddya know? It's a "fuck off, assholes" spell. Only not really, but fire balls work, too.

He glances at the thugs again, and wonders how many of them there are (three or six or twelve or, fuck, how many drinks has he had?), then figures as long as he can get them to go away without seriously injuring any innocent bystanders all will be well, so he closes his eyes and draws on the magic, feels the warm tingle in his gut that spreads through his veins, and envisions the runes and what he wants them to become.

When he opens his eyes again, they see fire. And as he visualizes it, it becomes real—three balls of fire the size of his fist burst out of the air. One catches onto a guy's jacket, and another shudders in the air for a moment before sucker punching another guy in the cheek. The last one kind of meanders about for a moment and then puffs out of existence like a candle wick in the face of a strong gust of wind.

And would you look at that? The assholes fuck off.

But the barkeep knows Jim's the only magic user here, so almost before the doors have finished swinging closed after the assholes, Jim's following them out.

Vaguely, he realizes the barkeep is yelling at him not to bother coming back; not even to pay his tab.

He also realizes he should maybe talk to the shrink a little more about getting rid of the Hero Complex. There have to be better ways to sober up than this.

(YOUCALLTHISAPAGEBREAK?)

Apparently, the barkeep has warned other barkeeps about Jim, because he gets thrown out of every bar he goes to or just plain denied entrance in the first place. (Cobblestones, just in case you were curious, hurt a lot.)

And, hell, he can't go back home. His dad died the day he was born, his mom's new husband had kicked him out as soon as he was old enough to be on his own, and his village had washed their hands of him the minute the Academy's recruiter (Master Calligrapher Christopher Pike) showed up and took a shine to him.

But the Academy...hadn't panned out.

So after a painful evening of getting thrown out on his ass time and time again, he sits down in the alley across from the first bar, huddles up in his clothes, and gets ready for a cold, lonely night.

For a while he stays awake and wary—the Assholes might come back, and even if they don't there are lots of other mean drunks who'll think nothing of beating up some sod on a doorstep. He focuses on the chill of the night air, the water (at least, he hopes it's water) seeping into the seat of his pants (and, fuck, he's too drunk to risk moving), and the noise coming from the bar across the street and the others like it.

Then he looks up to the sound of a soft, rambling voice and sees some man chattering on to a small bird perched on his shoulder. Between the bird, which seems to reply to the man's bumbling questions, and the man's flowing robes, Jim is pretty sure the guy's a Magician.

Or, well, a student from the Academy, if Jim isn't too drunk to recognize that particular shade of green; a light color identifying the Magician as a Junior Journeyman—a Third Year at the Academy. (Jim had been a First Year—a Junior Apprentice.) The swirling darker green embellishments around his collar mean he's training to be an Elemental—with blue streaks indicating he's specializing in Water, no less.

Jim hunches down a little, because even though he doesn't recognize the guy, the guy would probably recognize him. He was something of a minor celebrity at the campus, being a son from the Kirk family of Magicians. Not to mention he's the younger son, born on the day his father, George Kirk (a Master Calligrapher specializing in defensive runes), sacrificed his life to keep the savage, magic hating Northerners from attacking the Midlands and the Academy.

He curls his arms around his knees, hugging them to his chest, and is just about to hunker down when the Elemental is tackled by people Jim assumes are his friends and fellow Magicians. Most of them are wearing the same green robes of the first Elemental, with identifying embellishments from four of the five main disciplines of magic—dark green for Elementals, bright red for Techies, brown for Chemists, and yellow for Calligraphers. (The only one missing is the pale blue of the Healing discipline. Most Healers spend their free time working at clinics or sleeping, and those who do go out tend to prefer the smaller, quieter bars and pubs close to the Academy.)

The two other Magicians in the party are wearing white robes with a few embellishments, making them Apprentices (Second Years). He recognizes one of them as the mysterious Earth Elemental Uhura, who had been traveling with his recruiter along with a few of the other hopeful Magicians Pike had picked up along the way. She refuses to give him her first name, most likely because of his poor, drunken attempts at flirting with her the first time they'd met. The subsequent bar fight that brought him to Master Pike's attention probably hadn't helped matters, any. (He still makes poor attempts at flirting at her, drunk and sober, but surely she can tell he's—mostly—joking…)

But they walk past him without so much as a glance (which he considers rather anticlimactic, although it is to his benefit). And once they're out of sight he decides he might as well get some sleep where he can, possible mugging or no.

He's just drifting off to thoughts of shacking up with a rich sugar mama when someone plops down beside him with a short huff of air.

He looks over; it's Old Guy, who is scowling at him but offering a flask at the same time.

He takes it, quirks an eyebrow, and takes a swig. Fuck, it burns so _good_.

"Thanks," he says as he hands the flask back.

Old Guy shrugs. "That was a fool thing you did in there, Magician."

"Most of the things I do are fool things," he says, wondering who in the world uses phrases like 'fool things'. The guy's accent is thick—not one Jim recognizes.

A grunt. "Well, can't say I ain't grateful for it," Old Guy says. Eyes him. "You at the Academy?"

"Kicked out."

"Why? You seem to do magic just fine—you get caught blowing a teacher?"

"Wh—no!" Jim says indignantly (because he was never caught). "I don't have a focus."

"Looked focused on fire magic, to me."

Jim snorts, and shakes his head. "Not like that. Like…a familiar, or whatever. Something to channel the magic through. Some magicians use a crystal, others an animal, but…I could never find one."

"You were definitely using magic," Old Guy says. "I'm nowhere near that drunk."

Jim wonders what the guy would consider as 'that drunk.' The man's eyes are somewhere between green and brown—hazel, Jim supposes—and would be pretty except for the fact that they're completely bloodshot. His cheeks are showing signs of drunkenness, too, shining such a deep red that Jim can see them in spite of the dim light of the evening.

It's either that or the fact that Jim himself is a little drunk, because he can't help the laugh that bursts from his lips. "Nah, man. I was using alcohol as my focus. 'S what got me kicked out—liquor magic is more uncontrollable and dangerous than non-focused magic, most times, since you've gotta be drunk to use it. So…here I am. Nowhere to go and nothin' to do about it."

Old Guy hums thoughtfully, and a surprisingly comfortable silence falls over them for a moment before Jim speaks again.

"What about you?"

Old Guy sneers and takes a long drink from his flask. "Just separated from the old lady. She took the whole damned continent in the divorce—all I got left is my bones."

"You're from the Southern Continent," Jim says.

Old Guy nods, then sighs and stands, holding a hand out to him. "Name's Leonard McCoy."

"Jim." He takes the hand, allowing himself to be hoisted up. "Jim Kirk."

Old Guy—Leonard McCoy—shuffles his feet for a moment, eyebrows drawn together, then says, "I've got more booze back at the lean-to I'm renting."

Jim blinks, then looks McCoy up and down. He definitely looks the part of a vagrant, but what the hell? It's something to do, and while worst case scenario is being robbed, best case scenario is free booze and maybe some sex.

Jim's dick has always done more of his thinking than his brain has…for better or worse.

(YEAH.YOUOWEMEONE.)

When Jim had thought 'best case scenario,' he'd definitely been selling McCoy short. Belatedly, he corrects himself to ' _fucking_ _awesome_ case scenario,' because hot damn, this might just be the best sex Jim has ever had (and pretty much anyone who's known him for more than an hour knows he's had lots of sex…with pretty much anyone who's known him for more than an hour).

It's not just the sex, though. Well, it kind of _is_ , but…Jim can't quite make sense of it, but something about sex with McCoy is like doing magic. He gets the same warm feeling in the pit of his stomach, warmer and stronger and more satisfying than anything resembling a normal orgasm. He feels the familiar tingle of his fingertips, and the shimmery feeling his eyes get when he visualizes the magic.

Then McCoy lets out a shuddery breath and arches up to meet Jim's downward thrust, and the magic rips through Jim's body like…like someone unblocked a geyser. He comes with a gasping cry, his hair standing on end.

He hadn't quite meant to do magic—hasn't done accidental magic since he was twelve and the village Magician introduced him to liquor as a focus. But something about this, about the feel of McCoy against him and around him.

The bed shakes a little. The candle on the bedside table flares a little before going out as the water basin next to it erupts. Droplets shower down on them, cooling burning skin, and he closes his eyes. His head drops onto McCoy's shoulder, breath coming in soft pants as he tries to wrap his head around what just happened.

When he finally opens his eyes back up and meets McCoy's, he thinks he can see magic there, too.

(YOUCALLTHISAPAGEBREAK?)

"I want to try doing magic," Jim says the next day over breakfast. He isn't sure why he stayed the night—isn't sure why McCoy allowed him to stay the night—but he did.

McCoy, who had been scowling down at his coffee, blinks and scowls at Jim, instead. "You should try making sense, first. I hear it's all the rage these days."

"I never did keep up with the latest trends." Jim snickers, grinning wide when he sees McCoy roll his eyes. "But seriously. I want to try."

"You don't have to try," McCoy says. "I've seen you do it, clear as day. Just…you know, get drunk and do it."

Jim's mouth twitches of its own accord. "I want to try using you as my focus."

McCoy blinks again, head tilting slowly to one side as his eyes narrow. "Can you use a person as a focus?"

Jim shrugs. "Don't know. I don't see why not, though."

"I can think of several reasons: you might blow us both to hell, you might fry me from the inside out, you might turn me into a mindless vegetable…"

"Humans are a kind of animal, right?" Jim asks. "And lots of magicians use animals as their focus. Heck, lots of magicians talk to their familiars, even though no one else understands what it's saying."

"Sure they ain't just talking to themselves?" McCoy asks dryly.

"Not really," Jim says. "C'mon, McCoy, let me at least _try_."

"No. Damn it, Jim, I'm a healer, not a familiar. Go find a stray dog or something." McCoy waves a hand at the cracked and dirty window of the little apartment, where a few rather mangy-looking birds have perched and are cooing at each other.

"I've tried that," Jim says, trying to block out the images of some of those experiments, which ended in various bad outcomes (including but not limited to bites, scratches, bruises, bird crap in his eye, and one unfortunate ferret that had combusted due to the backlash of a seemingly low-level levitation spell. He had, at least, made it float for a second before the explosion). "Pretty please?"

"No. I don't want to wake up one day with blood streaming from my eyeballs just because you—"

"I'll let you fuck me again." He tries to make his voice sound a little sultrier. McCoy is surprisingly immune.

"You'll probably do that anyhow."

"Not the point," Jim says, jutting his bottom lip out. "Come on, man, please?"

McCoy glares at him for a moment longer, then rolls his eyes and sighs and says, "What do I do?"

"Just…stand there," Jim says. When McCoy doesn't move—not even to roll his eyes again, which Jim had half-expected him to do—Jim suppresses a smirk and turns his attention on the magic. Closes his eyes and holds a hand over his eggs, settling on a novice-level warming spell that doesn't use a lot of magic just in case something does go wrong.

He tries to summon the magic the way he does when he is drunk, by focusing on the magic pumping through his veins. Tries to bring the magic up and out; to force it to adhere to his whims.

For a moment, it seems to work—there's the warmth in his stomach and the prickling feeling like static electricity at the nape of his neck. But something's wrong; something's missing. He reaches out with his free hand and brushes his fingers against McCoy's wrist.

The magic bursts from him and centers instantly. It's as if every single ounce of power in him is suddenly…focused. It has never been so easy to control before, the entire room warms up at once. The heat is concentrated on his eggs, which sizzle merrily. He gasps, hears McCoy gasp, and they pull away simultaneously.

The magic disappears, leaving him choking on the absence of it in his chest. When he looks at McCoy, the other man is gaping at him with an expression of loss on his face that must reflect his own.

"Well," Jim says, licking his lips, "nothing blew up."

McCoy nods once before reaching out and touching Jim's cheek, where a scratch is healing from…something or other (Jim has too many cuts and bruises and scars to remember where they all come from). There's that tingle again and McCoy's eyes shift color, going from their natural hazel to the light golden brown that comes with magic. McCoy rubs a thumb over the scratch, but Jim can tell from the lack of pain that it's gone.

"You're a Healer with a capital H," Jim says, his voice almost too quiet for even him to hear. He stares at McCoy's face as the older man pulls his hand away.

A shrug. "I was a Healer on the Southern Continent, but when I came up here…you have to be from the Academy to seriously practice, and they tried partnering me up with a Magician. I don't…get along well with most people."

"With your charm?" Jim smirks when McCoy glares at him. "Well…look, there's a very simple answer to all of our problems. I need a focus, you need a Magician, we both need the Academy…you see where I'm going with this, right?"

"I'm just an old sawbones, Jim. You don't want to use me as a focus," McCoy says.

"Except that I do," Jim says. "You're the only focus I've ever been able to use, besides alcohol, and I can't do anything with liquor magic."

"All I wanted was a one night stand," McCoy says with a throaty, slightly manic chuckle.

"And you got one," Jim says. "Look, Bones, we don't have to have sex again. Although it would be fucking awesome, obviously. But we need each other."

McCoy grumbles something unintelligible, running a hand through his hair. To Jim, that's as good as a 'yes.'

(YEAH.YOUOWEMEONE.)

"You don't have some sort of school of magic down south?" Jim asks. They're on their way to the Academy, walking because there's no point in hitching a ride just to get on the other side of the city.

Bones shakes his head. "We've got a Healing Guild, but…the Southern Continent's mostly agricultural, so nobody's got enough time to practice any other kind of magic. And even if they could, can't anybody spare a kid just for that. Your kids help on the farm until they grow up, and then they either go off to start their own farm or they take over their parents' or stay on to help whichever of their siblings took over it. Hell, some prospective Healers can't even join the Guild or anything because they've got to help. If not for the fact that all of my family's been Healers for as far back as I can remember, I'd probably be out in the fields right now."

Jim hums thoughtfully, and tries to remember the farms in his village. Tries to imagine Bones working on one of them.

"You'd look good in overalls," he says finally.

"Don't be an ass." Bones elbows him.

Jim snickers and asks, "Well, if you don't have an Academy down there, how much do you know about other kinds of magic? Besides Healing, I mean?"

"I know the basics," Bones says. "The five types, their colors, that sort of thing. I was only there for about two weeks, but then they started trying to set me up with a partner and I'm…not like you, Jim. I don't make friends easy."

"We're friends," Jim says.

"Because you're a stubborn ass," Bones says with that endearing accent of his that cuts or stretches out syllables seemingly at random and puts a weird twist on words ('ass' comes out sounding more like 'ace'). "Most people take one look at me and figure they won't like me, and then I open my mouth and convince them of it."

"Aw, Bones," Jim throws an arm around him, "I like you. You're interesting. And you might look like shit, but you're the shit in the sack."

"And that's all it takes to convince you." Bones sighs exasperatedly, although his hand sneaks up and clasps onto Jim's shoulder. Then he tenses and lets go, shrugging Jim off and shoving his hands in his pockets like that'll stop it from acting up again. "Don't reckon we're all that equal, though, seeing as how I still don't even know what kind of Magician you are."

"Most Magicians don't decide which facet of magic to focus on until their second year, although some know from the start what kind they prefer. And since I was kicked out…" He trails off with a shrug. "I was leaning toward Runic, though, I think."

"A Calligrapher. Figures." Bones rolls his eyes.

"Magicians!" A woman prostrates herself on the ground in front of them, hands clutching at Jim's boots with one hand as she holds the other up to them. "Please, sirs, money for my daughter? She is very sick and must see a Healer."

She looks away from the road to a doorstep where a girl is gazing back at them with glazed, feverish eyes.

"My friend, here, is a Healer," Jim says, nudging Bones. "He can help."

The woman shakes her head. "No, sirs, a true Healer!"

"Might not wear the blues," says Bones, "but I'm a true Healer."

Another shake of her head. "Please, I ask only for money."

Jim watches Bones' jaw clench. Bones leans forward and grabs the woman's face, forcing her to look him in the eyes.

"You aren't asking for money because your daughter is sick, you drunken harlot." He sounds almost apologetic, like he can't quite manage being as venomous as he usually is. Jim wonders if the apology is meant for the woman or her daughter.

Then he watches as Bones' eyes shift, his magic coming to the fore. A moment later the woman gasps, the alcohol-induced flush in her cheeks suddenly gone as if it was never there.

"What does your daughter have, sweetheart?" Bones asks, his voice soft as he releases the woman's chin and caresses her cheek.

"I do not know," the woman says, her lower lip trembling. "I have not…have not sought help for her. It was merely a cold, at first, I think. I thought she would recover, and in the meantime I could get a few extra coins for liquor. But this morning I saw that she has not gotten better, and no one will give money, anymore."

Bones grunts out some sort of acknowledgement and pats her head, then goes over to the little girl. He crouches next to her and gathers her up in his arms, muttering under his breath as he cradles her close to his chest.

For a moment, her rattling breaths are all Jim can hear even with the din of the street behind them. Then she takes a deep, long, clear breath, and her mother lets out a joyous cry and crumples back to the ground, weeping.

"Mommy?" The girl's voice is soft and hoarse, but her body seems strong enough as she extricates herself from Bones' arms and runs to her mother's side. "Mommy, are you okay?"

The woman shakes her head and throws her arms around the girl, clutching at her. The girl blinks, then smiles and returns the embrace.

"I'm okay, Mommy," the girl says, petting her mother's hair.

A loud sob escapes the woman's throat and she stands with the girl still in her arms. She shifts the girl to one hip and reaches out to grab Bones' hand, bowing so his hand touches her forehead in a respectful gesture.

"Thank you, Healer," she says. "I do not have money, but…thank you. Thank you so much."

"Just stay sober, honey," Bones says, squeezing her hand. Then he smiles at the little girl, ruffling her hair gently. "Hey there, sugar bean. My name's Leonard. What's yours?"

She smiles shyly back at him and looks down, mumbling, "Gem."

"That's a real pretty name, Miss Gem," he says. "You stay healthy, okay, sweetheart? Your mama was awful worried about you."

She nods, wriggling a little until her mother sets her down. She tugs on Bones' tunic, shuffling her feet for a moment when he leans down before pressing a light kiss to his cheek.

"Thank you, Healer Leonard," she says, then ducks behind her mother's skirts.

"You're very welcome." Bones looks up at her mother. "Both of you."

Her mother nods, opening her mouth like she wants to say something. Then she closes it again, and shakes her head. "We should go. Thank you, Healer."

"Just doing my job, ma'am," Bones says, and waves as they disappear into the crowd. He stares after them for a good minute or two with this heartbroken look on his face, like he's just lost something precious.

Jim wonders, briefly, what he left back on the Southern Continent besides his ex-wife.

After a moment of heavy, unbearable silence, he nudges Bones. "Looks like someone has a crush on you, Bones-y."

Bones jolts, like he has forgotten Jim is here (which is just plain not right). He scowls. "For the gods' sake, Jim, could you at least pretend to be a mature adult?"

Jim waves him off. "I'm only eighteen, Bones. I'm allowed to act like a kid until I'm much older. Like, twenty-something."

Bones does something with his eyebrows that somehow communicates to Jim that Bones himself is twenty-something.

He laughs awkwardly and slaps Bones' shoulder. "Well, good job, Bones. With the healing stuff, I mean."

Bones flushes and looks away. "It's nothing much, Jim. Any Healer could've done it."

"But not all of them would have." Jim says. Bones doesn't reply, and a thick silence falls over them for a moment. To break it, Jim draws on their earlier conversation. "What was that, earlier? That 'oh, a Calligrapher. Figures,' bullshit?"

Bones snorts. "Just saying it stands to reason you'd pick the flashiest type of magic, Jim."

"Hey, don't give me that." Jim pouts again. "You don't really consciously decide—you're just kind of…drawn to one or the other."

"Mm." Bones grunts, nodding. "I knew I was going to be a Healer from the get-go."

"Actually, Healers are the only type of Magician that can't really access any other kind of magic," Jim says, putting his hands up defensively when Bones scowls at him. "You guys don't have focuses, what'd you expect? That's why Healers have to be paired up with a Magician if they're traveling." Healers drew on the latent magic of their patients, even Normals who had so little they could only work silly card tricks (which is more sleight-of-hand than actual magic).

"We'd be sitting ducks if we ran into trouble." Bones wrinkles his nose

"Right. On the upside, you don't have to stay in school as long as the rest of us. We waste a year trying to figure out where we're strongest, whereas you guys know pretty much as soon as your magic starts to manifest."

Another grunt—Jim thinks half of Bones' vocabulary must be made up of differently pitched grunts—as a thoughtful expression comes over Bones' face. "What sort of trouble could a Healer come up against? Maybe it's different around here, but down south they treat us like we're curing the plague every time we heal so much as a stubbed toe."

"Same here," says Jim, stifling a grin, "most of the time. But there are some parts of the North where folks don't trust magic of any kind, even Healing."

This garners him a frown he can hardly see through the beard Bones is still sporting. Jim wonders, vaguely, what he would look like without the beard. Less scraggly. Younger, too, and maybe even handsome in a more classical sense instead of this rugged street-dweller look he currently sports.

"Plus," he adds before his brain can wander too far down that particular path, "there are monsters and stuff. Not too many of the former, but lots of the latter—poisonous snakes, highway robbers and the like."

"Same shit, different continent." Bones snorts. "Not like I can't take care of myself, you know. I'm pretty handy with a dagger." He motions at the hunting knife in a nondescript sheath on his hip.

"One man with a dagger doesn't stand much of a chance against a nest of adders or a group of bandits, Bones," Jim says. "Although it's good to know you won't be completely helpless if we ever get in a tight spot or are separated."

"Only a fool wouldn't know at least the basics of self-defense. This world is disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence."

Jim blinks at him, then grins. "And here I thought _I_ was a cynic. Maybe I should change your nickname to Hyperbole."

Bones levels him with a glare that could curdle milk. "Or you could just call me by my name."

"You have a name?" Jim feigns surprise, laughing when Bones smacks his shoulder. He throws an arm around Bones' neck. He can feel muscles rippling under his arm, and _damn_ he hopes he can get Bones naked again without alcohol so he can see those muscles up close and personal and be sober enough to appreciate them. "Bones fits you better than Leonard."

Bones snorts, but doesn't argue except to roll his eyes and then his shoulders, pushing Jim's arm away.

"Well look who's come back with his tail between his legs."

They look up at the Academy walls looming before them. A Junior Apprentice and his Journeyman mentor are stationed at the gates to greet new applicants or run off dangerous-looking individuals.

The Apprentice in question is one with whom Jim has already gotten into several fights—starting with the bar fight that got him on Uhura's shit list. His name is Jason Young but Jim calls him Cupcake. (This probably doesn't help with the fights, true, but it makes Cupcake's face turn a particularly hilarious shade of puce.)

"Who's got his tail between his legs?" Jim asks, looking around curiously.

Cupcake's mouth twists into an ugly scowl. He looks to his mentor for approval (given with a slight nod). He makes a motion with his hand, his eyes filling with magic he releases in the form of a heat spell. It is not unlike the one Jim had used to test Bones' compatibility as his focus (Cupcake's focus is the large crow sitting on his shoulder), although this one is a bit more advanced.

Jim counters with a low-level wind spell, unable to suppress his smile when Bones grabs his shoulder unbidden. This surge of magic is no less powerful than the first. It amplifies the spell, turning the gentle breeze into a strong gust that cuts through Cupcake's heat spell and knocks him over.

The Journeyman—Jim doesn't know his name, but can tell by his mechanized arm he's a Techie—blinks and then grins at them.

"Well, now, that's a sight," the man says in the thick brogue of the south. "Why don't you just follow me inside; reckon Pike would like to talk to you."

As they follow the mentor past the wide gates of the Academy, Bones asks, "What was that about?"

"They always test newcomers," Jim says with a shrug. "The Academy isn't the place for people without magic. Just walking around can be dangerous."

"I wasn't tested," Bones says, frowning.

"You healed that little girl and her mother, remember? One of them saw you and knew you were a Healer." Jim nods up at the turrets at each corner of the wall surrounding the Academy. "There are Journeymen at each of those, all with some sort of magic that allows them to see most of the city—scrying spells, telescopes and the like."

"Hmm." Bones hums, and is thoughtful and quiet for the rest of the trek up to Pike's office.

Christopher Pike is one of the Masters of the Academy—a Calligrapher, and the one who oversees the newcomers until their second year when they begin to specialize. He is also the man who recruited Jim; the one who had been the most disappointed when Jim drank himself out of the Academy.

"Jim Kirk," Pike says when they enter his office. His lips are pursed together, his eyes slightly narrowed as they file in, though they widen at the sight of Bones. "And Healer McCoy."

Jim grins and claps Bones on the shoulder, ignoring the scowl the other man shoots at him. "I found my focus."

Pike looks at them for a long moment, eyes flickering from their faces to Jim's hand on Bones' shoulder and back again.

"I call him Bones." Jim grunts when Bones elbows him hard in the stomach.

Pike's mouth twitches. "Well, gentlemen, this is certainly…unusual."

"More than you're thinking it is." Bones drawls.

Pike, as he takes in the unrepentant grin on Jim's face and the chagrined scowl on Bones', looks like he's developing the beginnings of a headache.

Then he sighs in a resigned way that makes Jim wonder just how much paperwork this is going to take (he remembers the mountain involved in getting him into the Academy in the first place), and Jim knows things are going to be okay.


	2. Part II

Jim isn't terribly surprised to find that no one's really missed him. There's not a single person on-campus who is all that happy to see him return. Even (especially) the instructors, who regard him with this expression on their faces like they're waiting for him to blow something up. (And, dammit, that only happened once with that damned ferret. They seriously need to learn to let those sorts of things go.)

No, what surprises Jim is how no one seems to have missed Bones. Like, at all.

He kind of wonders whether anyone knew Bones had ever been on-campus to begin with, which is just weird. It's especially weird because it turns out that Bones is a fucking phenomenal Healer—Jim would have expected him to be some kind of celebrity, at least among the Medical students. And it's not just the thing with him being a capital-H Healer, because most Healers Jim knows just heal folks and go on to the next patient. Bones, on the other hand…

Bones treats every disease like he can't do magic at all; actually diagnoses the patient, figures out the cure any run-of-the-mill village healer can use, and then uses magic to take care of getting the person back up to a normal state of health. Then he records those cures so that not only is the initial patient cured, but others can be, too—and not just by capital-H Healers.

Jim's met so many Magicians who just fell into their classification as a Healer because of genetics; who begrudge the fact that they don't really have their own magic.

But Bones actually cares. He's a Healer from his ridiculous coiffed hair to his scuffed, worn boots.

It's staggering, is what it is. Amazing, even.

And Bones might have earned himself a reputation for being needle-happy and foul-mouthed faster than Jim earned his for being a horn-dog (two and a quarter days into the semester, _hell_ _yes_ ), but there's no other Healer people would rather see standing with their chart in his hands when they stumble (or get dragged) into Medical.

Jim's pretty sure Bones is some kind of superhuman, or something. And for some reason, that makes him want to be superhuman.

Honestly, he's never particularly cared about…y'know, Stuff. He knows he's supposed to 'use his powers for the greater good' and (if he's lucky) follow in his father's footsteps and whatever, but knowing all that and actually doing it—actually wanting to do it—are completely different things.

But when he looks at Bones—at the way his brow furrows with concentration as he runs his fingers over the newest set of cuts and bruises littering Jim's face—he starts feeling all gushy inside. All the bullshit Pike and the other Masters spew about helping people and going to other parts of the world (discovering new islands, going beyond the known parts of the Southern Continent, finding out if there are more continents) and even uniting the known world…it all starts making sense. And he starts actually caring about it.

When he thinks about it for too long, late at night after a bender, he has to laugh at himself for being so goddamn difficult. (He gets way too philosophical after too many beers; it's unhealthy to think this much, he's sure.) But when he's sober he just doesn't get it. He can't quite come to terms with the fact that in order to make something of himself, all he's got to do is try.

Regardless, he's sure Bones is perfectly content to provide as many kicks to the pants—no, strike that. He's sure Bones is perfectly content to provide as many jabbed needles to the neck as it takes for him to get his act together.

But Bones isn't here right now. The guy's got some weird aversion to the (sketchy) pubs Jim likes.

Cupcake's here, though, and he _will_ provide Jim with a kick to the pants. And, if Jim is in a particularly caustic mood (he is), Cupcake will even throw in a few extra punches to the face and knees to the stomach and—okay, the elbow to the groin is overkill, but Jim probably (definitely) deserved it.

Jim gets the feeling Bones is going to get one of those looks on his face again, and when he finally comes to and can gather up enough strength to crawl back to the dorms…

Bones does.

If Jim wasn't so wasted, he'd take that look as the indicator that he should apologize and maybe start considering not getting drunk and fighting so much. But, hell, he'd probably still do it, so maybe it's just as well that he's too far gone to do much more than vomit all over Bones' boots and groan.

"Dunno why you do this to yourself, kid," Bones says as he kicks off his shoes and pulls up a bucket.

"Oh, I had lots of help." Jim allows himself to be turned onto his side, hissing as Bones pokes and prods at a particularly large bruise on his ribcage.

"You've been getting better," Bones says. "Today would've been almost two months since your last fight. What happened, some guy with a prettier face try to cock block you?"

"Today's special," Jim says, and hums contentedly when he feels the comforting tingle that always accompanies Bones' healing spells. "And there's no such guy."

Bones snorts, but narrows his eyes as he helps Jim sit up. He has to help a lot, because the world is doing this funny spinning thing. "What's so special about today?"

"Haven't you noticed all the celebrations?" Jim looks down at his hands. "'S my birthday."

When Bones doesn't say anything, Jim chances a glance up. Bones' eyebrows are all scrunched together, his lips pressed together into a thin line.

"You always go out and get your ass kicked on your birthday?" Bones asks.

"The Southern Continent isn't so cut off from the Northern that you've never heard of George Kirk." The words feel like curses in his mouth, like he's spitting them out into Bones' face.

"Yeah." Bones draws the word out slowly, even further than his accent usually does.

"You aren't stupid, Bones," Jim says.

"You were born on the day your dad died."

Jim holds up a finger. "The day he gave up his life to save everyone else's." He corrects. "The day he was the only fucking Magician who stayed behind and to try and stop those backward Northerners from overrunning the outposts that separate them from the Midlands."

Bones goes back to staring at him, but now there's just a blank expression on his face, so Jim has no idea what he's thinking. Then he sighs and leans forward and puts his arms around Jim.

Jim throws up on him again.

(YOUCALLTHISAPAGEBREAK?)

Jim isn't sure how to feel when he wakes up the next morning to absolutely no hangover and a tray of unhealthy and delicious breakfast foods (the kind Bones usually bitches about until long after Jim has finished eating).

He settles for 'relieved,' and resolutely ignores the little candle stuck to his syrup-drenched waffle. Bones doesn't say anything about any of it, so he figures that's okay. Just eats and takes a shower and gets dressed and goes to class, and if Bones throws an arm around him when they meet up for lunch it's because they're close enough friends. Also, Jim's got to stop overanalyzing this shit because he's going to give himself a headache (and he's not drunk at all, much less drunk enough to start brooding).

Bones still doesn't bring the whole birthday-thing up. When they start their shared afternoon lessons, Jim figures he's in the clear.

He's almost disappointed, because Bones actually doesn't bring it up again. The only acknowledgement Jim got for his little breakdown was the birthday candle, and Bones seems content to leave it at that.

Jim should be content. He should be fucking ecstatic, because most people who make that particular realization about his past start treating him like glass, or try to overcompensate for whatever it is they think he's missing out on. It would make this class really damned uncomfortable, too. That's not something that should really be possible, since they're outside with only a small wall surrounding them to keep people from trying to sneak out of class early when Pike isn't looking.

But this isn't most people—it's Bones. Maybe he'd be annoyed regardless, because it is annoying, but…he just expected something more from Bones than a measly birthday candle and a hangover cure he'd have gotten regardless of the date.

Whatever it is he wants from Bones, he doesn't get any more time to think it over. Master Pike has just begun class, raising his voice to be heard by everyone out here in the open.

"As you no doubt know, you won't always have your focus with you when you have to do magic," Pike says. "Sometimes a foe will manage to separate you, or you will send them to do some task before you realize there is magic to be done. Can anyone tell me how much distance can come between a Magician and their focus before the Magician can no longer perform?"

"You can always draw on your focus," someone says. "It's just that the power you can draw from them gets exponentially smaller the farther they are away from you…right?"

Pike tilts his head to one side an acknowledgement. "Perhaps I should have worded the question differently—how far can a magician stand from his focus before his power is useless?"

"A mile, maybe?" Another student ventures.

"More like a quarter of a mile," someone else says with the tone of someone who has experience. "My little sister stole my quartz and buried it down the road—I couldn't light a candle."

"So how do you prepare for that?" Pike asks.

"Put a leash on your familiar," the first student says, giggling when her familiar—a tiny tabby—hisses disapprovingly.

"Grab a bottle of liquor," says Cupcake, elbowing Jim, "right, Kirk?"

Jim's lip curls up into a scowl, but he straightens his spine and says, "Build up your magic."

"Pardon?" Pike asks.

"Build up your magic," Jim says again. "Instead of just drawing on it when you need to use it, draw on a little of it all the time and build up a…a reservoir of magic. Then you just ration out what you've got built up until you and your focus can get back together."

"You can't do that," Cupcake says, scowling. "Can you?"

"Actually, Mr. Kirk is quite right," Pike says—he's got that teeny, tiny little smile on his face that tells Jim he might just be feeling a little proud of him (which is an odd feeling for Jim to inspire in someone, to say the least). "How many others have noticed that you can build up your energy?"

A few hands rise.

"Good!" Pike claps his hands together. "In that case, today is your first surprise practical." There is an easy smile on his face as he watches various members of the class either groan or cheer. He picks up his focus, a long-furred cat with startling blue eyes and light silvery fur, and sets her on the floor. "The surprise is that your focuses won't be in contact with you while you work—Number One will be collecting any and all inanimate focuses, now, and those of you with animate focuses are to have them follow her to the designated area."

There is a long pause, full of grumbles, as the cat assembles all of the assorted focuses (ranging from a small ring to a fish, whose bowl Bones has to carry) to a small corner of the room. Then she lets out a dignified mew and jumps up onto Bones' shoulder, licking her paw delicately.

"Those of you who have been building up a reserve, stand over here to one side of the room. The rest of you, over there. You will engage in battle one by one—those with a reserve are to use only what magic they have stored up, and the rest will try to draw on what power they can from their focuses over the distance. Whoever runs out of magic first loses the round."

"What does the winner get?" Jim asks, smirking.

"An automatic passing grade. The loser will be graded on his or her performance," Pike says. "Those of you belonging to whichever group wins the most rounds will receive five extra points on our next exam."

He pauses, letting the students flutter about with excitement for a moment before announcing, "The first pair will be…Mr. Kirk and Mr. Young, if you don't mind?"

"Not at all, sir," Jim says, the sentiment echoed by a scowling Cupcake.

"Good. You can use whatever type of magic you're most comfortable with. Several types, should you wish to try." Pike waits for them to prepare themselves, the rest of the students forming a large, rough circle around the pair. "Alright, ready?"

"Yes, sir," The two men say in almost perfect unison.

"Then…go!"

Nothing happens for a moment—Cupcake is undoubtedly trying to think of a way to draw on his focus without actual contact. Jim, on the other hand, has figured out how to build up a reserve but not how to tap into it. It takes him a minute, which is a few seconds longer than it takes Cupcake to finally cast the same low-level wind spell Jim used on him at the Academy gates. It's powerful enough to knock Jim over, but he can see from Cupcake's face it was difficult to draw power that way. He probably has a moment or two before the other man recovers.

He rolls with the wind and gets up into a crouch, closing his eyes. He tries to imagine the way the magic glows under his skin when he uses it. He can feel it. The tingle that precedes the magic flowing through his body. He channels it into the same basic fire spell Cupcake had used against him at the gates. He recalls the feeling of Bones' hand against his arm. The spell takes on a life of its own, the air sparking with energy before igniting and setting fire to Cupcake's arm.

He latches onto that memory. The way the magic in him sings whenever their fingers brush together. He sketches a few runes into the sandy floor and invokes them with a wave of his hand. A wall of earth rises up just in time to shield him from the second, less hesitant wind spell Cupcake casts. Cupcake starts up a barrage of wind spells, trying to knock the wall down. Jim sketches a small row of runes into the back of the wall. He places his hands over the runes and pours his power into them. The sand morphs into a wall of water. A mini-tsunami that crashes down on Cupcake's head.

He waits for Cupcake to recover before casting his next spell. Cupcake is swamped by another wall of dirt.

Then, panting, he begins slowly drawing out more runes, keeping an eye on the wall as Cupcake tries to break free.

Cupcake finally reaches daylight, but slumps over the remaining mounds of dirt, gasping for air.

"Enough," Pike says as Jim draws on his magic again. "This round goes to Jim."

"No, I'm not—I can keep going." Cupcake wheezes.

"Just stop," Jim says, offering the other man a hand. "You did good."

Cupcake frowns at him for a long, tense moment, then reaches up and takes the proffered hand. "You, too, Kirk."

"Both of you did well," Pike says. "And I hope all of you were taking notes on Mr. Kirk's strategy—that wall-spell doesn't use a large amount of magic, after the initial casting. It allowed him to prepare for his next spell _and_ drained a good bit of Mr. Young's magic when he tried to tear the spell down." He's giving Jim that smile again. "A very good job, indeed."

Jim grins, and looks over at where Bones is sitting and stroking Number One absently. And, gods, Bones has that smile on his face, too (it is a good bit smaller than Pike's, but it still sends this little rush of warmth through Jim to see it).

"Who wants to go next?" Pike asks, but Jim isn't really paying attention, anymore.

He's just staring at Bones and trying to think of other ways to get the older man to look at him like that, again.

(YEAH.YOUOWEMEONE.)

Bones never does bring the birthday thing up, although Jim notices he is less inclined to protest when Jim slaps his back or throws an arm around his shoulder.

He is also oddly protective, now.

Hell, maybe he's been this protective from the start, because when he snaps at someone who mouths off about Jim's father no one seems altogether surprised by the outburst (except for Jim).

"What was that about?" Jim asks as Bones glares after the guy until he's left the cafeteria entirely.

"What was what about?" Bones asks, giving Jim almost the same glare—almost but for the way his whole face softens, a little.

"You almost bit his head off, Bones," Jim says.

"He's an ass," Bones says, taking a bite of the gruel the Academy cooks have the nerve to call an actual meal.

"I can take care of myself, Bones." Jim shakes his head, chuckling.

"You saying you'd let somebody talk to me like that without opening your fat trap?" Bones' dandruff is definitely up—his accent only comes out that thick when he's pissed (or when he's being fucked).

"Well, no…"

"Then shut up," Bones says, and turns back to his food with this tetchy look on his face that could very well be directed at either Jim, the guy who'd just left, or the food itself.

"Mind if I join you, boys?"

They look up to see Gaila—a Techie Apprentice—smiling down at them, her red hair falling in loose ringlets around her face to frame it. The small ruby serving as her focus hangs on a gold chain, resting just under her clavicle.

"Sure, Gaila, take a seat!" Jim says, grinning at her as she sits. Gaila is one of the only people on campus he has enjoyed seeing again, since his return.

"What can we do ya for, Miss Gaila?" Bones asks.

Gaila giggles. "You can do me for free, Healer." Then she eyes Jim. "But I shall have to think about him—unless you were suggesting a threesome? Do you often participate in them together?"

Bones chokes on his food, turning a deep shade of red from both embarrassment and asphyxiation. "Pardon me, ma'am?"

"You asked." She winks at him, then says, "But really, how are you both?"

"Can't complain too much," Bones says with a smile. "You?"

"Oh, I am alright," she says, but fidgets a little. "Listen, boys, I have a bit of a favor to ask."

"So I guess it's what can you do _us_ for, huh?" Jim snickers.

"Jim," Bones says, elbowing him none-too-gently.

"It is fine, it is fine." She laughs.

Bones snorts. "Well, disregarding that manner-less lout—what do you need, sugar?"

Jim has noticed that Bones only really brings out those cute little monikers with Gaila. It takes him a long while to figure out that it's not so much that Bones is interested in her (although of course he is, being both hot-blooded and past puberty), and more that Gaila is one of the few women in the Academy who doesn't respond violently to them. Bones' favorite Nurse had allegedly threatened to cut off his balls and string them up on the walls of the Academy if he ever called her any such thing. Bones is a smart enough guy to know better than to try calling Uhura anything but Uhura (though Jim suspects Bones is allowed to use her first name so long as Jim isn't within hearing range).

"I am about to take my first Command practical," she says, slumping dramatically in her seat.

The Command track (which Jim is on, naturally) is for those Magicians who plan on leading specialized teams after graduation, whether they prefer to strike out and discover new places or head diplomatic missions to the (literally and figuratively) frigid North. Jim would honestly prefer the former over the latter, because the prospect of finding new cultures and peoples is far more appealing to him than some boring diplomatic hogwash ('hogwash' is a term he stole from Bones, because it is both hilarious and awesome). Gaila, as far as Jim knows, is more interested in the diplomacy part. He thinks there is something about the Northerners—the way they shun any and all magic to the point of personal detriment—that calls to her, for some reason.

"I am supposed to pick a team of four to take with me to a simulated mission." A pause, followed by a shy but eager grin. "So what are you boys doing this weekend?"

(YOUCALLTHISAPAGEBREAK?)

Somewhat predictably, they are the last to arrive on Friday (because Jim has no qualms with spending a few—okay, _thirty_ —extra minutes in the bathroom ensuring that he looks positively dashing).

Gaila is chatting with two other students—both are wearing their white travel tunics and black breeches, but while one's are plain (a Junior Apprentice), the others sport dark green and orange embellishments (an Apprentice Fire Elemental). She is wearing her own travel tunic, which is white with the dark red embellishments that mark her as an Apprentice Techie.

But when she sees them approaching, she ends the conversation and waves them over, smiling broadly as she tackles Jim.

"Jim!" Then she releases him and hugs Bones. "Healer Leonard! You made it!"

"'Course we did, darling," Bones says.

She beams up at him, then grabs one of his and Jim's hands and pulls them over to where the other two are watching the scene with some amusement.

"All right, team, now that we are all together, I shall introduce you! Jim, Leonard, this is Hikaru Sulu—a Fire Elemental from my year—and Greg Olson."

"I'm planning on being a Chemist," Olson says.

"Hikaru, Greg, these two are Jim Kirk and Healer Leonard McCoy."

"I'm leaning toward Runes," Jim says.

"And I'm a Healer. That makes us all from a different specialty," Bones says, tilting his head to one side and frowning just a bit. "Don't the teams usually come from roughly the same type of magic?"

"Yes, but I believe that that is stupid." Gaila wrinkles her nose. "It makes sense to construct your team of people you know and trust, I suppose, but some types of magic are more suited to different tasks."

"Good magicians can think of ways to compensate," Jim says, then holds his hands up defensively when she scowls at him. "I agree with you, Gaila, I'm just saying. Besides, it's the leaders too stupid to bring along a Healer that I worry about." He grins and winks at her while throwing an arm around Bones' shoulder. "But you happened to pick the best Healer ever, so I guess you're good."

Bones rolls his eyes and shrugs him off, a light flush dusting his cheeks. Jim smirks. Bones just can't take a compliment.

"Where are we going to learn our mission?" The other Second Year—Sulu—asks, his voice tinged with a slight accent that sounds Eastern to Jim.

"Cochrane's office," she says. Zefram Cochrane is one of the oldest Masters at the Academy; the Dean of the Technical Wing. Most people agree that the only older Master is the Dean of the Chemical wing, T'Pau, but Northerners have an almost unnaturally lengthy lifespan. "We have over an hour before we are supposed to report, but I thought we might seize a nip of food, first."

"You mean grab a bite to eat," Jim says.

"Precisely," she says, unruffled by the correction. "Would you like to go to the cafeteria, or would a pub off-campus be more amenable?"

"Pub," The four men say in perfect unison.

She giggles. "Then let us—what is the phrase you used the other day, Healer? Skitter?"

"Skedaddle," Bones says, unable to keep a grin from spreading his lips. "Let's skedaddle."

"Yes, let's," she says, lacing her arms through Olson's and Jim's. They head out of the gates.

The pub she chooses—because she's definitely leading them already; by their noses, in fact—is only a five minute walk away, and seems like an ill-begotten hole-in-the-wall at first (not unlike the bar in which Jim first met Bones. But it isn't crowded and their food gets to them fairly quickly, and turns out to taste pretty darn good.

"So what type of mission do you think we're getting, Gaila?" Olson asks as their plates empty.

"Usually people are sent to retrieve some sort of artifact from some remote location away from campus, and upperclassmen try to stop them," Gaila says, running her finger along the rim of her mug. "I imagine it will be something beside those stripes."

"Along those lines." Sulu corrects.

She hums.

"What sort of formation are you thinking?" Jim asks.

"I want you and Sulu in front, Healer Leonard in the middle, and Olson and I bringing up the rear," she says. "These simulations are famous for ambushes from behind. When we get to the pick-up point, I was thinking of a pincer movement with the Healer as a decoy."

"If Bones is incapacitated, I can't use magic." Jim points out.

She frowns for a moment, thinking, and then her lips curl up into an impish grin. "Then I suppose I shall have to serve as the distraction."

"But you're the leader." Sulu purses his lips together.

"So they will not be expecting it." Her grin is widening as the plan unfurls in her mind. "Right? They will be expecting one of you as the distraction. It might purchase us a few more minutes."

"Buy us some time," Bones says offhandedly.

"It might actually work," Jim says. "I mean, it'll depend on who the upperclassmen are, but…I'm sure you've noticed: Gaila's fucking _hot_."

"Jim, for gods' sakes," Bones says, swatting the back of his head.

"I only say it because it's true, Bones." Jim pouts (just a little, mind you).

"Doesn't mean you have to say it so damn crudely—if you'll pardon my language, Miss Gaila," Bones says, nodding at her.

"It is fine, Healer, really." She assures him. "We can use my looks to our advantage, in this case. I am aesthetically pleasing to people across most genders, origins, and sexualities, so even if they do not hesitate due to my position as team leader, my looks will certainly do the job."

"Sweetie, don't you let idiots like Jim go and make disparaging comments just 'cause they happen to have some kernel of truth to them," Bones says. "You're a fine young lady and you work hard to be treated as such, even if he don't mean no harm."

"Doesn't mean any harm," she says blithely. "But you see, Healer, that is not why I allow such comments to be made. I do it so that people will underestimate my abilities. Their focus on my physical attributes often leads them to underestimate my magical abilities, thus giving me the upper hand."

He wrinkles his nose and opens his mouth like he's going to argue some more, but she shuts him up with a kiss.

"You see?" She asks, giggling at the slightly dazed expression on his face. "Now if I can only think of a way to cause this effect on a wider scale, we just might beat them!"

(YEAH.YOUOWEMEONE.)

They are assigned to an area several kilometers to the south of the Midlands, where the lush green hillsides give way to the sandy deserts that have forced the people of the south to cultivate machinery over agriculture. (Alba is known for producing more Technicians than any other part of the Northern Continent.)

This part of the desert, in particular, is made up of several deep canyons, all connected by a river the Albans call the Wellspring. The Wellspring is known as being one of the deepest, fastest moving rivers around, and is therefore one of the most dangerous.

They are walking alongside one of the canyons, now; one so deep that the river below looks to be no bigger than a thick bit of yarn.

"How far away is the target?" Sulu asks, hand gripping the hilt of his focus, a collapsible katana he keeps tucked in a sheath at the small of his back.

"Approximately one kilometer that way." Gaila nods in the direction they are walking.

"Any idea who'll be trying to stop us?" Jim jumps at the sound of loose rocks tumbling down the canyon walls.

"We aren't supposed to know; that's part of the test," Bones says with the exasperated tone he gets whenever he thinks Jim has said something particularly dense (which is a lot, because Bones never has understood the depth of Jim's brilliance).

"Scotty is one of them," Gaila says.

"How do you reckon?" Bones frowns.

"Because that is the only reason he would have said no when I asked him to be on my team." She replies with an easy shrug.

Jim snickers, muffling the sound with his arm.

"He is wrapped around my little toe, as you say," she says.

"Your finger, sugar," Bones says. "He's wrapped around your little finger. And I happen to think it's kind of sweet, Jim, so stop your giggling before I start thinking you've turned into a thirteen year old girl."

"I do not sound like a thirteen year old girl."

"You kind of do," Olson says.

"Do not."

"How long have you and Scotty been dating?" Bones asks, rolling his eyes as the two men bicker back and forth.

She tilts her head to one side, considering the question. "I do not believe it is called dating if a couple is merely having sex, correct?"

He blinks. "Ah, no. Not really."

"Then a week," she says. "But I warmed his bed for nearly two months before that."

"'Warmed his bed' ain't exactly the best way to put it, darling," Bones says. "It sort of implies that you…uh, that you're a woman of loose morals."

"He means it makes you sound like a two-cent whore," Jim says brightly. Bones swats him, and he ends up falling flat on his face when the following stumble causes him to trip over a rock.

"Gods' sakes," Bones says as he crouches over Jim to survey the damage.

"I'm fine, I'm fi—does anyone else hear that?" Jim's ears perk up, eyebrows furrowing as he concentrates.

"Sounds like people running," Olson says, smirking as he puts a hand on his focus, a small cog tied to the leather thong hanging around his neck. "I hope it's our opponents—I can't _wait_ to kick some upperclassmen arse!"

"That is definitely _not_ an upperclassman," Sulu says, staring off into the distance, down the canyon on the path they are taking.

"It is probably some sort of spell," Gaila says, squinting at the dark shape on the horizon. "Healer, take cover. Jim, go with him and flank us, to be sure this isn't a distraction. Sulu, if you will start casting a defensive spell?" He nods. "Olson, do you have some sort of potion to identify that thing?"

"Identification spell." Olson is already pulling a small vial out of the belt of vials strapped around his waist. He pours some of it into his hand, his eyes flashing with magic as he invokes the spell. "It's animal, not spell. What's Scotty's familiar?"

"A dog not even knee-high," Gaila says. "But it might be—gods, it is big!"

The thing is closer, now, barreling toward them. It roars, the sound forcing them to cover their ears despite its distance. And it _is_ big—huge even, and as it draws closer they can see foam gathering at the edges of its mouth.

"Holy fucking hell." Jim hears Bones mutter, voicing all of their thoughts.

"I am calling this in; no way it is part of the exam. You gentlemen distract it," Gaila says, pulling out the communications device they were equipped with at the beginning of the exam. "Academy watchtower, this is Team Leader Gaila…"

"Oh, is that all we have to do?" Sulu grumbles, his katana unfolding and bursting into flames as he draws on its power. "In that case…"

He doesn't get any more time to speak. The beast has come close enough to attack, slamming into a boulder that stands in its way. It shatters, sending smaller rocks flying in every direction. One of them nearly hits Sulu. He knocks it aside with his sword before throwing a wall of fire up around them.

The thing snarls, and pays no heed to the wall. It leaps over it, ignoring the fire licking its fur.

"Watch out!" Jim hurls himself at Olson, who almost lost his head to a wild swing. It turns to attack again, but Jim has already drawn a few runes into the sand. He invokes them and pulls Olson along with him as a wall rises up from the ground. It protects them long enough to get out of the way.

"Everyone get behind something!" Olson doesn't bother to stand up straight. He crouches as he fumbles with one of the vials from his belt and lobs it at the beast. He grabs Jim by the shoulder of his tunic and throws him behind a rock.

The beast swats at the vial, which explodes on impact. It screams, eyes red with fury, swinging its mangled paw. Jim's nostrils flair as the smell of burning flesh hits him, bile rising in his throat.

He begins tracing more runes into the sand, but pauses. Gaila's communicator suddenly attacks, her magic morphing it into a tiny robotic creature that crawls all over the beast too fast for it to catch. It makes garbled noises, distracting the monster. Its newly formed feet stab into the thing's skin with sharp metal bits.

"Why is it attacking us?" Gaila asks, throwing some more bits of metal onto the ground and using her magic to assemble them into another attack robot.

"Reckon an upperclassman did it?" Bones asks, scowling at them from his vantage point behind a boulder. The tight line of his shoulders tell Jim he wants to help, held back by the knowledge that there's nothing for him to do that won't make matters worse.

"There's no magic that can control a sentient being," Jim says. "It's possible this thing is someone's familiar. Who would use their familiar as a frigging attack beast?"

"Might be trained," Sulu says. "There's some sort of mark on its left flank, like a brand."

"I will get a picture," Gaila says, making a motion with her hand as she alters one of her robots.

"Hey, Bones, any idea how to kill this thing?" Jim asks as he casts his spell, the resulting gust of wind bowling the thing over. It roars, incensed. "So far we've only managed to piss it off."

"Shouldn't we try to keep it alive? See who sent it? Or, if no one did, why it's attacking people in the first place?" Bones asks.

Sulu attacks the beast with his sword and is knocked away, crying out as he hits a rock with a gut-wrenching crunch and then goes eerily silent.

"There is a cave just over the side of the cliff," Gaila says, her face paling as she glances at Sulu's limp body. A third robot is standing in front of her doing an odd little dance before it joins its brothers into the fray. "We can climb down to it and keep out of that thing's reach until it gets bored and goes away."

"We sure it can't climb?" Olson asks, tossing another potion at the beast. It burns like acid where it hits fur.

"That thing shouldn't even be here—it isn't a desert animal," Bones says. "Not with that fur. It might be able to climb a tree, but it sure as hell won't know what to do with a cliff."

"Alright, then," Gaila says. "Healer, you go first. Then you and Jim can take Sulu down, and Olson and I will cover—"

"You should go with Sulu, Gaila," Jim says. "You can fight from a distance, and once you two are safe your little bots can distract it while we climb down."

"I am the leader, here, Jim—unexpected or not, it is my responsibility to take care of you guys. Now go." When she catches them staring at her, she frowns. " _Now_ I said!"

Then she stands up, screaming a war cry at the beast and throwing a cherry bomb at it that she must have conjured from midair, which catches the thing's cheek. It howls and stumbles back. Jim shoots off one last spell at it—the ground forms ropes that hold the beast down. Then he turns his attention to getting Bones and the unconscious Sulu to the cave.

"Bones, you first," he says.

"Strap Sulu to my back," Bones says. He is already taking his belt off. "Then you can stay at the edge and help as needed."

Jim nods and helps get Sulu onto Bones' back. After making sure Sulu is securely tied, he watches Bones start making the climb. The ledge that leads to the cliff is about two or three horse lengths down, so Jim can do nothing but hover over the edge of the cliff when Bones gets too far away for him to grab.

Bones seems to be doing alright, at first, then his foot slips. He flounders for a moment before his hand grasps a rock. His face contorts for a moment and when Jim looks, he sees a dark splash of scarlet on the rock.

Bones reaches the cave a moment later, clutching his hand to his chest. Then he maneuvers Sulu onto a boulder, undoing the makeshift straps.

"Alright, Jim, come on," he says.

Jim climbs down to a ledge just high enough for him to see over the cliff. "Gaila, we're safe! Whatever you're going to do, do it now!"

"Olson, I am going to stand at the edge of the cliff and get it to run at me," Gaila says. "Once it cannot stop, I will jump out of the way. Help make it angry, okay?"

Olson nods, picking out three vials and throwing them one by one. The first one surrounds the monster with a cloud of smoke. It coughs and roars angrily as it tries to escape the onslaught. The second detonates just behind the thing, frightening and maddening it at the same time while Gaila's robots attack it again. And the third clears the smoke almost instantly. The initial smoke-bomb giving him time to duck behind a boulder while Gaila takes her place.

"Come at me, beast," she says, hands balled into fists at her side. "Go on, attack."

It bellows at her, but doesn't move, suspicious.

"Come on, I said attack me." The muscles in her legs are taut, ready to spring. It still hasn't taken so much as a step toward her.

"Oi." Olson steps out from behind the rock, holding up a glinting vial in the sunlight. "Recognize this, you nasty little bugger?"

That sets the beast off, howling its rage to the sky as it charges.

"Get out of the way, Olson," Gaila says.

"Just a bit more," he says. "Just a little closer…"

It's close enough, now. He jumps to one side—

—too late; the monster catches his legs as it leaps for him.

Someone screams (Olson, Gaila—hell, it could have been Bones) as Olson falls toward the cave, arms wind milling desperately. Jim reaches for him but jerks back as the monster fills his vision. He clings to the cliff, away from Olson. Vertigo crushes in on his throat as the monster's claws dig into his skin and yank. He cries out and digs his fingers into the rock face to keep himself from being dragged after them.

And Olson and the monster both pass by, falling, down, down, down, until they can't be seen anymore.

Olson's horrified yells and the beast's roars echo throughout the canyon for a long time after they are out of sight.


	3. Part III

They are silent for a long time, looking down the canyon like Olson will suddenly fly up, shaken but alive.

He doesn't, and eventually Gaila breaks the silence with a horrified sob. She falls to her knees, covering her mouth with her hands.

"Jim, help me," Bones says, his voice strangled as he begins assessing Sulu's wounds. "Gaila, you too, sweetheart. Let's…let's save the one we can."

Jim moves away from the cliff face to which he had still been clutching, shaking his hands to get the blood flowing. "What can I do, Bones?"

"Help me get him down off of this damned rock." Bones already has one of Sulu's arms slung over his shoulder.

Jim grabs Sulu's other arm, ignoring the pain shooting through the lacerations on his shoulder. Gaila has reached them by the time they have him laid out on the ledge of the cave. She lays Sulu's sword down and pulls his head up onto her lap without being asked, a tear dripping down into his hair.

Bones pulls out the dagger that always rests at his hip, cutting Sulu's shirt open. His sharp gasp takes Jim's eyes away from the rapidly purpling bruise that nearly covers Sulu's torso. Bones face is pale; paler than Jim has ever seen it.

Sulu gurgles, flinching.

"Tilt his head, Gaila, he's vomiting," Bones says, and curses under his breath when blood seeps out with the bile. Gingerly, he runs a hand over Sulu's chest. "Damn it."

"What?" Gaila asks. "What is it, Healer?"

"Internal bleeding," Bones says. "Probably gastrointestinal. Hold his head like that in case he vomits again, sweetheart. Jim, sit on his legs and hold his arms down—careful with that one, it's broken."

"Should we set it, first?" Jim asks.

Bones shakes his head. "He could bleed out in the time it takes me to heal his arm."

Gaila whimpers, biting her lip so hard it starts to bleed.

Bones takes a deep breath and puts a hand on Sulu's stomach. His eyes shift, and a shiver goes up Jim's spine as he watches the skin return to its normal pallor. Bones moves his hand, the bruise rapidly fading in its wake until all that remains is healthy-looking skin.

Bones keeps his hand on Sulu's stomach for a moment longer before he pulls away, blinking rapidly as his eyes return to normal. He stares down at Sulu, then lets out a relieved breath and nudges Jim.

"Okay, his arm, now," Bones says. "Hold his shoulder down, Jim."

Jim nods and puts his hands on Sulu's shoulder, applying pressure. Sulu's arm makes a soft, grating noise as Bones forces the bones back into their proper place. Gaila whimpers, Sulu's face contorting as the pain begins to drag him back to consciousness.

"Keep holding him," Bones says as his eyes flicker again.

Sulu takes a sharp breath and opens his eyes, shuddering under Jim's hands. "Wh—?"

"You're injured, Sulu," Bones says through gritted teeth, beads of sweat breaking out on his brow. "I'm healing your arm, right now, and I need you to keep as still as you can so I can be sure the bone sets correctly, alright?"

Sulu nods jerkily.

"Just a moment more," Bones says. He releases Sulu's arm, pursing his lips together. "Does your head hurt?"

"Y-yeah, a bit," Sulu says with a grimace.

"Concussion." Bones' hands move up to cup Sulu's head. "This is going to tingle a bit, Sulu."

"You may hold my hand if you get uncomfortable," Gaila says, already putting her hand in easy reach.

"Thanks." Sulu lets out a quiet yelp as Bones squeezes gently.

Bones sighs when he releases Sulu.

"Wow, Healer," Sulu says as he sits up, shaking his head and stretching his arms experimentally. "You'd never know I was hurt."

"'S what 'm here for," Bones says. "Your turn, Jim."

"I'm fine," Jim says, but Bones and Gaila both level him with a look. He laughs forcedly and strips off the remains of his shirt, which barely clung to him.

"You think I didn't see that thing almost tear off your arm?" Bones asks, eyes narrowing at the four long gashes ripping through Jim's shoulder. "Idiot."

"Did you get through to the Masters, Gaila?" Sulu asks as Bones runs his hands along Jim's shoulder. (He's a lot less gentle with Jim than he was with Sulu.)

"They should be here, soon," she says. She glances at the edge of the cliff. "Gods, what will we tell them?"

"We'll tell them exactly what happened," Bones says, slumping when he finally pulls away from Jim. "Why? You think we should tell them something else?"

She shakes her head, jaw tightening as she reaches up and wipes her eyes.

"Well, we've got nothing to do but wait, now," Jim says, trying to shift into a more comfortable position. There isn't one.

Bones sighs again, eyes drooping a little as he leans against Jim.

"Hello," someone yells from up above them.

They look up, but no one is there.

"Apprentice Gaila," the voice yells again, "where are you?"

"Down here," Gaila shouts. "We're down here!"

Three heads come into view—Scotty, Master Cochrane, and a third man they don't recognize. They climb down.

The group stands, Jim putting a steadying hand at the small of Bones' back when he wavers a bit.

Master Cochrane stares at them for a moment, then asks, "What's happened here, then?"

Gaila explains, in slightly uneven tones, the appearance of the monster and everything that followed. When she reaches the part about their plan to kill the beast, her voice wavers too much for her to continue.

"Where is Apprentice Olson?" Cochrane asks, a sad glint in his eyes as he looks at them.

"We were trying to lure it off the cliff." Gaila finds her voice, hoarse but strong. "He…didn't jump out of the way in time."

He is quiet for a moment. The two upperclassmen exchange a glance before Scotty sends a flying mechanical probe to the bottom of the canyon.

"You did well," Cochrane says, squeezing Gaila's shoulder briefly. "All of you."

"No sign of the body, sir," Scotty says. "Or the…the creature they described."

Cochrane nods. "We'll send a search party to try and find a body to take home to his family."

"Sir, do you have any idea what that thing was?" Jim asks. "Or where it came from? We thought it might have been part of the exam, but it…"

"The beast you describe isn't an animal I am familiar with," Cochrane says. "But there may be someone back at the Academy who is. Let's get you kids back home. Journeyman Riley, if you would send a bot ahead of us to appraise Headmaster Archer of the situation."

"For what it's worth, Gaila did a damn fine job of keeping us safe," Bones says, allowing Riley to help him up. "If it wasn't for…" His voice breaks, from strain or sorrow or disbelief, and he rewords the sentence. "We should have all been fine."

"One lost life might be acceptable by Academy standards, but it is not by mine, regardless of…of whatever," Gaila says, wiping tear tracks from her cheeks. "I will retake the exam, sir."

"We'll worry about the exam later, Apprentice," Cochrane says. "For now, you kids need to go to the Healer's wing and get patched up. Then have a nice bowl of soup and go to bed before you fall over. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

They are helped up by the two upperclassmen (Jim notices Scotty paying special attention to Gaila), who mostly don't say anything to them. At the top of the cliff is a cart, being pulled by a mechanical horse under the control of a Junior Journeyman who hardly looks old enough to be in the Academy at all.

"Where is the fifth member of their party?" he asks, voice thick with some sort of Kievan accent. Archer shakes his head wordlessly.

Gaila starts crying, again, burying her face in Scotty's shoulder as they take their seats in the cart.

Bones takes the seat across from him in the caravan, at the left-end corner. He turns his back on everyone else and cradles his injured hand to his chest.

Jim's forehead crinkles. He moves across the small distance between them, kneeling in front of Bones.

"Hey, is your hand okay?" He reaches for it.

Bones waves him away.

"Bones, let me see," he says with a soft chuckle.

"It'll be fine once we get back to the Academy," Bones says without moving. "'S long as I don't pick up some crazy desert infection."

"Let me at least wrap it, then, Bones. I've got a bandage in my emergency med kit." He smiles weakly. "Wouldn't do for you to lose your hand because of some stupid infection, right?"

Bones jumps, straightening and giving Jim a look that is part anger and part…some other emotion. Fear? His voice breaks as he says, "Don't even joke about that, Jim."

"Come on, Bones…" he says, reaching forward again.

"No." Bones waves him away. "Damn it, Jim, I'm serious. Losing a hand is a Healer's worst nightmare."

"Shouldn't that be losing a patient?" Jim asks.

"That's a fear, yeah," Bones says. "But even the best Healers lose people. Losing a limb, though..." He looks down at his hand, "it's the one thing we can't heal. We grow skin back all the time, and muscle is a pain in the ass, but it's not impossible. Bones are just beyond us."

"Why?"

"Because all we're doing is speeding up and strengthening the body's natural healing process," Bones says. "That's why we have to find the cures to some diseases before we can heal them—we can't do anything the body couldn't do on its own."

"Alright, so...you're worried about living out your life with…I don't know, a hook for a hand?" Jim asks. "I'm sure Scotty could make a really nice one for you."

Bones glares at him. "Jim, I can't heal if I don't have both of my hands."

Jim's breath catches in his throat. He doesn't move again until he sees the tense muscles of Bones' shoulders loosen.

This time when he goes for Bones' hand, Bones lets him take it.

He jerks his head at Sulu, who rolls his eyes but takes the hint and moves to Jim's unoccupied seat. Jim sits next to Bones, keeping one of his hands around Bones' as he reaches into the pouch at his belt that holds his med kit. Another pouch holds a small flask of water, which he pours over the wound under Bones' careful scrutiny.

"Tight enough?" he asks as he begins wrapping the bandage.

Bones grunts and shifts, resting his head on Jim's shoulder. Jim can't suppress the smile that comes to his face at the soft, disapproving sound Bones makes at him when he starts tying off the bandage.

"You'd have made a shit Healer, kid," Bones says, flexing his fingers.

Jim just grabs Bones' hand again, barely resisting the urge to bring it to his mouth to kiss. He and Bones are close, but that would be too intimate a gesture even for them.

"We'll be back at the Academy, soon," he says. "That'll hold until then."

"I'll still be teaching you the proper way to bandage up someone's hand when we get back," Bones says, but he doesn't pull away.

Jim laces their fingers together and wonders if it is horrible of him to be grateful that it was Olson dead, and not Bones.

(YOUCALLTHISAPAGEBREAK?)

"It's Romulan."

Jim starts and looks up at Uhura as she and Gaila (they're roommates and, in spite of their vastly different temperaments, very good friends) take a seat across from he and Bones.

"This symbol." Gaila pulls a piece of parchment out of her robes, unfolding it to show them a gritty sketch. "The one on that thing's buttocks."

"It isn't a thing," Uhura says with a deep frown. "It's a Set'leth."

"And you know this because…?" Bones asks.

"One of Gaila's bots drew a picture, and when I recognized the symbol, I…asked a friend," Uhura says, averting her gaze for a moment during the latter part of her sentence.

"You have a Romulan friend?" Jim asks sharply as he narrows his eyes at her.

"No," Uhura says. "But a Northerner, yes. Not all Northerners are Romulans, Kirk."

Jim snorts, but doesn't otherwise comment. "Well, what exactly is a Set-whatever?"

"A Set'leth," Uhura says. "It's the Romulan version of a Sehlat—a Vulcan pet that looks like a bear with exceptionally long teeth."

"That thing was someone's pet?" Jim asks with a rather undignified squawk. "Someone set their damned pet on us, like a…a fucking attack dog?"

"That's the only thing I can think of," says Uhura, shrugging. "But they're supposed to be fairly peaceful creatures; as far as I know they only attack to protect their young or their owners."

"Well, we certainly weren't attacking anything," Jim says. "It couldn't have perceived us as some sort of threat, right? We were nowhere near the north, much less Romulus."

"It shouldn't have even been there," Bones says, jaw tightening. "It shouldn't have been there, and it shouldn't have attacked us, and Olson shouldn't have fucking died."

"But it was, and it did, and…" Gaila purses her lips, her chin trembling once, twice, three times before she is able to collect herself and continue, "and he did."

Uhura reaches up and puts a hand on Gaila's shoulder. "They found his body this morning."

"I know," Gaila says softly.

"But they still haven't found the Set-thing," Jim says.

" _Set_ _'_ _leth_ ," Uhura says.

"They still haven't found it," Jim says, rubbing his face with his hands. "And I heard they're bringing Master Cochrane under review."

Gaila's head snaps up, her shoulders tense. "I beg your pardon?"

"Supposedly, they're accusing him of not scouting the area properly before staging the exam there," Jim says. "My guess is that Olson's parents contacted the Academy about…you know."

Gaila's forehead crinkles for a moment. She purses her lips and shakes her head. "It was my mistake that got Olson killed, not Master Cochrane's. They cannot hold him responsible—"

"Sweetheart, you didn't do anything wrong, either," Bones says. "There was no way anyone could have expected or prepared for what happened."

"I'm the one who didn't even try to grab him," Jim says, not meeting anyone's eyes.

"He'd have pulled you over with him, Jim," Bones says. He puts a hand on Jim's arm and squeezes.

"You don't know that," Jim snaps, jerking his arm away.

Gaila says something in her native tongue that causes Uhura's cheeks to turn bright pink in spite of her darker skin tone.

"If those fools say anything to you or Master Cochrane, I shall present them with part of my brain," She says, nostrils flaring.

"Give them a piece of your mind, honey," Bones says. "And you'll have to hope you get to them first, because if I do—"

"You won't," Jim says. "I'll make them wish they were the ones to run into a Set-whatsit. But they haven't said anything—"

"Yet," Bones interjects.

"Yet," says Jim, "so it's a moot point. Let's not get pissed off until they do something to deserve it."

"What you mean to say is that we should let it go and leave it to you to do something that'll get you kicked out of the Academy but give us plausible deniability," Bones says. For once Jim wishes Bones wasn't his focus; didn't know him so damned well.

"We will help, Jim," Gaila says with a determined look.

"No, we won't," Bones says sternly. "We don't know yet that they've actually accused anyone of anything, and they aren't going to because none of us did anything wrong. And I'm sure as hell not lettin' y'all go and get yourselves kicked out of the Academy because you're all damned brainless fools with tempers hotter 'n the Great Southern Desert."

"The Great Southern Desert?" Jim frowns.

"A desert on the Southern Continent," Bones says. "It's bigger than any of the ones you've got up here. And don't you dare think you're distracting me from the point of this, James Tiberius Kirk, because if you even try to pull one of your usual stunts no one'll be able to expel you, because I'll have killed you."

"But Bones—"

"I said no, Jim." Bones smacks his fist against the table, causing its other three occupants to go quiet.

Jim makes a face, but stops arguing. Gaila and Uhura are looking at the two of them like they're expecting one of them to kill the other, but no one moves.

"They're sending teams to the North." They all jump as Sulu and the whiz kid Techie from before sit down next to them. "A few diplomatic teams, and some not-so-diplomatic teams, trying to figure out why the Romulans would attack like this after…after so long."

Everyone looks at Jim—the last time the Romulans had attacked was the day Jim was born. They hadn't had any recognizable reason to attack, then, either.

"The Vulcan ambassador seemed just as surprised by the attack as we were," the whiz kid says. Jim wonders just how far into Kiev the kid was from, to pronounce his 'v' like a 'w'. He's never heard such an accent, and he grew up in the Midlands, where people from all over the Northern Continent came for study and trade and gossip. "I think he believes this faction of Romulans is not affiliated with their central government."

"It wouldn't have to be a faction," says Uhura. "It was just one Set'leth—it could have been trained by a single Romulan."

The kid shrugs. "I just tell you what I heard."

"Who the hell _are_ you, kid?" Bones asks, voicing the question on Jim's mind.

"Chekov, Pavel Andreievich, sir," the kid, Chekov says. "I am a Third Year Technician—a Junior Journeyman."

"You don't have to call me sir, son. You're technically my superior." There is a sharp twist to Bones' words like he has to force them out, his nose wrinkling.

"But you are my elder," Chekov says. "I am not, however, your son."

Bones blinks, then snorts and says, "Force of habit."

"Who are they sending to Romulus?" Jim asks.

"Masters, mostly, and some of the Graduates who are not already out on assignment," Chekov says. When he continues he sounds like he might be reciting a passage from a report. "They will find out if the Ambassador is correct in his belief that this group of Romulans is not connected with the Romulan Empire itself. If it is, and he is wrong, they will attempt to ascertain the reasons behind the attack and whether or not a more dire situation is eminent. If it is an independent party, they will try to get the Empire to aid us in apprehending the rogues before they attack someone who will declare war first and ask question later."

"Like the Klingons," Sulu says, and Chekov nods.

"We do not need a global war."

"Continental, you mean. The Southern Continent won't take part in a Northern conflict," Bones says.

"And we're assuming the Empire is going to cooperate?" Jim asks. "They might not even tell us if the attackers are with them, regardless of whether or not that'll start a war."

"Surely they cannot think they can best us," Chekov says. "We are mostly peaceful, true, but we have magic!"

"Normals can defeat Magicians," Bones says. "Any idiot who tells you otherwise is lookin' to get hisself killed."

"It doesn't matter, right now," Uhura says. "Even if there _is_ a war, we won't be allowed to join until we've graduated. Not as anything more than technical support, anyhow. You might be sent up, Healer," she nods at Bones, "since you were trained on the Southern Continent and are technically a Master in your own right, but the rest of us won't be allowed to do more than construct weapons."

"I go where Bones goes," Jim says immediately, clenching his hand into a fist to stop himself from grabbing Bones' hand.

"I'm not going anywhere, you idiot," Bones says with a derisive snort. "And they can't send me so far away, anyhow, war or not."

"Why's that, Healer?" Gaila asks.

"I'm equinophobic," Bones says. When they give him a blank look, he explains, "It means I have a fear of dying on a horse."

"You were fine on the cart," Jim says, eyebrows rising up toward his hairline. How is it that they've known each other for this long without Jim finding out about this?

"The cart was being drawn by a mechanical horse," Bones says. "And it's not the horse itself that scares me, technically, it's riding a horse."

"That's just silly," Jim says.

"Everyone's scared of something, Kirk." Uhura rolls her eyes.

Jim clucks at her. "Well, he's my focus—I'm not letting him stay afraid of something that'll mean we'll both have to take assignments in the Midlands."

"You selfish prick," she says disbelievingly.

"Fears are meant to be overcome, Uhura. And this one? This one will keep him from reaching his full potential. You might not have noticed, but Bones is the best damned Healer this place has ever seen. But if he can't ride a horse? That means he won't be able to go on expeditions to new islands and countries and lands, where he can heal beings we've never even imagined, yet. I mean, think of how different Vulcans and Klingons and Romulans are from humans! And they're all humanoid species. There's no telling what sort of people live beyond the Great Southern Desert or the two oceans."

"But you still aren't doing it for him," Uhura says. "You only want him to be able to go because _you_ want to go."

"So does he." Jim snaps. "You wouldn't believe how excited he gets when he hears about some weird epidemic they're having in some other part of the continent. Oh, oh, like this one time—"

"No one wants to hear about that, Jim," Bones says.

"I do," Chekov says, his wide eyes trained on Jim.

"See? Chekov wants to hear," Jim says, nudging Bones and snickering when the other man groans. "So this one time, a Healer stationed somewhere in Bantu sends word that he thinks he's found some sort of weird new disease, right?"

"Let me guess—it was actually some variant of the common cold?" Uhura asks.

"Let me finish, Uhura," Jim says. "The guy says he's coming back to the Midlands with a sample of the disease that he wants to get checked out, okay. And Medical's in a fucking uproar over it."

"Because only an idiot would bring an unknown, untreatable disease to a place full of people," Bones says, lip curling into a derisive sneer.

"But this guy did," Jim says.

"Because Carter's an idiot," Bones says under his breath.

"And it turns out he's brought a person," Jim says. "A chick. And wait for it, because here's the kicker: he has it, too."

"It was a sexually transmitted disease," Bones says with an exasperated sigh. "His wife managed to catch it and gave it to him."

"And Bones stayed awake for three days finding a cure," Jim says. "I'm pretty sure he spent the entire time ranting, too."

"Because Carter is an idiot," Bones says again. "If it had been some sort of airborne disease the entire continent could have been wiped out. The Midlands are a damned cesspool already, just waiting for a resilient strain—"

"Like that," Jim says, chuckling. "Not like it would've mattered, Bones, because you'd have found a cure."

Bones, who had begun opening his mouth for some sort of scathing reply, turns bright red. His mouth closes with an audible click.

"But if he can't ride a horse, he'll never get to go check out the new diseases that crop up all over the continent unless some other idiot brings a patient to the Midlands." He presses his lips together into a thin line when he sees the way everyone is staring at him. "You guys might never have seen him treat a patient, but I have, okay? Bones was made for that sort of thing."

"'M not all that," Bones says, eyes downcast.

"You're brilliant, Bones." He slaps Bones on the back. "But no worries, old buddy old pal! We'll have you riding like a pro in no time—I don't believe in no-win scenarios."

"Angels and ministers of grace, defend _us_ ," Bones says under his breath.

(YEAH.YOUOWEMEONE.)

"Remind me again why I have to know how to ride a horse?" Bones asks, eyeing said horse (a bay mare called Peaches) with the sort of trepidation most people save for the business end of a sword.

"Because sometimes Healers have to get somewhere faster than their legs can take them. And all joking aside, if there is a war, a Healer as talented as you will have to be up on the front lines where you can do the most good." Jim pats the horse's neck. "C'mon, it's an easy enough thing to do—you don't even have to be proficient at it. Just good enough to get from point A to point B."

"I hate horses," Bones says as he allows Jim to give him a leg up. "If people were meant to go this fast, we would."

"We do," says Jim, and smirks when Bones gives him a dry look and adds, "on horses."

"That doesn't count." Peaches shakes her head—Jim wonders if she's agreeing with Bones—and tries to take a step forward, which makes Bones freeze up, gripping the reins so tightly that both of his hands go entirely white.

Jim sighs. He moves Bones' foot out of the stirrup so he can use it to swing himself up onto the small space behind Bones, who shifts forward automatically to try and give him more room. He puts his chin on Bones' shoulder, one hand coming around to rest on Bones' stomach and steady him while the other works on loosening the Healer's death grip on the reins.

"Just relax, Bones. Horses can tell when you're scared. You'll freak her out."

"I'll freak _her_ out?" Bones asks incredulously.

"Yep." He presses a soft kiss to Bones' neck—it's the first real sexual (romantic?) contact they've shared since the night they met over half a year ago, even though Jim tries constantly to convince Bones they should do this sort of thing way, _way_ more often. "C'mon, calm down."

"I might throw up on you," Bones says. Jim can't quite tell if this proclamation is in response to the horse or the kiss. He isn't quite sure if he wants to know.

So he swallows back his anxiety and says, "Alright, I'm going to get us started—you take over once you feel more comfortable, okay?"

"So a few hours after never?" comes the mumbled response, but Jim can already tell Bones has relaxed considerably. But then they start forward with a bit of a jerk, and one of Bones' hands jumps up from its grip on the horn to clutch at the hand Jim has on his stomach. "I wasn't kidding. I really might throw up on you."

"Calm down, Bones, shh," Jim says, hiding his grin in Bones' shoulder. "It's okay."

"It's not okay at all," Bones makes an odd, undignified squeaking noise as Jim forces his hands to grip the reins. "Jim—"

"It's fine," Jim says. "Just…just relax a little. Hold the reins like this and let her do all the work. I'm right here if something happens."

Nothing is likely to happen—they haven't even left the training pen, yet. Even if there was enough room for a horse to get up the speed to jump the fence, Peaches is a rather old mare. There is no chance at all for her to jump a fence as high as the one circling around them.

"See, you've got it." Jim slowly takes his hands away from Bones', letting them rest on Bones' hips.

"I hate you," Bones says.

"You're doing fine; quit being such a big baby." Jim laughs. "Think you're ready to get out of the kiddy pen, now?"

Bones grunts and brings the horse to a stop—if there's one thing Bones insists on knowing about a horse, it's how to stop it—and Jim dismounts. Bones' back is ramrod straight with nerves as Jim unlocks and opens the door of the pen. "You riding a different horse after me?"

"Nah, I figured I'd just walk beside you," Jim says.

"If this thing takes off and you're on foot, I'm going end up running into a tree and breaking my neck."

If he didn't think Bones would kill him for it, Jim would do stuff like this just to hear the deep Southern twang come out in his voice. Bones usually does a good job of hiding it, but Jim loves to bring it to the fore; loves the way Bones' voice gets a little deeper and huskier; loves the way his mouth curls around the words.

"This old girl won't do anything untoward." Jim assures him, brushing his hand over the horse's rump. "I brought some food; let me get it, and then we'll go."

"I won't move," Bones says. He seems to be under the impression Peaches will take off into a gallop at the slightest provocation.

Jim is gone and back within a few minutes, although he takes a little longer than is strictly necessary in hopes Bones will loosen up with a little time. He doesn't, of course—as far as Jim can tell he hasn't so much as blinked in the time Jim's been gone.

"Okay, you ready?"

"If I say no, can we go back to the dorm and get drunk?"

Jim laughs. "No, you know better."

"If I die today, I will haunt you forever." Bones sits rigid in his seat as Peaches moves forward, eagerly going along with Jim, who tucked a few apples and carrots into their lunch basket just for this purpose.

"If you die, I'll have to go through all sorts of trouble to get another focus. Keeping you alive and bitching—I mean kicking—is in my best interest."

Bones snorts, then says with a convincingly menacing tone, "If I die, I will make sure you never get laid again."

"Don't be so melodramatic," Jim says. "You aren't going to die, Bones."

Bones lets out a short huff of air, then hunches into his seat a little and shivers.

Jim gives him an odd look—the Midlands are warmer than almost any other part of the Continent, and it's already early spring. Then he feels it, too; a sudden, biting chill that makes him grab the reins and bring the horse to a halt.

The mare whinnies softly and tosses her head, eyes flickering around nervously. Besides the cold, which shouldn't bother her so much since her winter coat hasn't quite been shed, yet, Jim can't think of what might be spooking her. It's quiet, after all, and—

"The birds aren't singing," Bones says, his scowl deepening. "Jim, there's no sound at all in the forest. I don't even hear the brook."

Which should be close enough to hear, now.

"Scoot back; I'm coming up," Jim says, leading Peaches to one side of the road. He has only just gotten his foot in the stirrup when there is a sound like thunder in the distance. Peaches whinnies loudly and rears up. If not for Jim holding her down, she would have knocked Bones off of her back. "Hush, old girl, come on."

It takes a bit of maneuvering to get up in front of Bones, who has to nearly bend backwards to avoid getting a boot to the face. Peaches—becoming increasingly nervous—isn't helping matters any, fidgeting as she is.

That sound again, growing steadily louder. Instead of fading, as it had before, it continues this time, sounding less like thunder and more like a rockslide.

"What in the gods' names is that?" Bones asks in his ear.

"Horses," Jim says. "A Ferengian market's worth of horses. I'm going to get us farther off of the road."

Hushing Peaches, he moves them into a deeper part of the forest, where they can see the road but travelers (hopefully) can't see them. They are quiet, straining their ears to hear something other than the hoof beats in the distance which are coming closer and closer until—

A herd of horses breaks into their line of sight, all with an armored person sitting astride.

"Halt." The voice is strong, speaking in a snarl that demands respect. Jim can hardly hear it over the horses footfalls, but the entire brigade comes to an almost immediate stop. "Ayel, how far?"

"We are nearing the Academy's pastures," one of the men says. "We can storm the Midlands within the hour."

"Ayel was the second-in-command of the man who killed my father," Jim says. Bones arms tighten around his midriff in response.

"We will stop here." The leader decides. "Best to save our attack for dark."

"We have to tell someone," Jim says. He's keeping a mental tally of the number of men in the horde while simultaneously trying to discern the best time to slip away unnoticed.

Peaches takes a jittery step back, spooked by the glimmering metal armor and even more by the ominous aura surrounding the wearers. Her hoof comes down on a stick. The loud snap immediately garners the attention of the first- and second-in-command and a few others, who look over at the two men.

"Go—for the gods' sake, go," Bones says, slapping the mare's ass.

She moves, but not before rearing up again. Bones shouts as he falls, hitting the forest ground with a horrifying thud. Before Jim can even attempt to get Bones back on the horse, she has taken off into the woods and left Bones—his focus and, gods, his _best_ _friend_ —behind.

For an old mare, Peaches can run like no other when she's out of a mind.

She runs, her swift hoof beats keeping time with the erratic beating of his heart. There are at least two men following behind him that Jim can see. An arrow embeds itself in a tree where his head was a moment before.

"Go on, girl." He urges her on, tucking himself as close to her body as he can. She lets out another burst of speed, her muscles bunching and straining under him as she runs. He wishes he knew a spell that could help her, somehow—slow down the men following her, or boost her strength. If Bones were here, the Healer could spur her on to even greater speeds, Healing her tired old body to the power it must have had in youth. But Bones…Bones is…

Peaches lets out a high-pitched scream, suddenly, and he glances back to see an arrow buried in her flank.

"Come on, lady, we're almost home," he says. "We're almost safe, old girl, just a little bit more—"

A third rider bursts out of the forest beside them, and with another scream Peaches tries to get out of the way but only manages to send herself and Jim tumbling down a hill.

Jim tries to throw himself free of her body, but his leg is trapped, and a rock strikes him in the head.

Everything goes black.


	4. Part IV

Jim wakes to the sound of frightened, rasping whimpers in his ears. His eyes flutter open, but the world is dark—night has long since descended on the forest.

He coughs and takes a deep breath, sitting up with some difficulty. Pain erupts before concentrating on his leg, pinned beneath Peaches.

When he looks at her face, she is looking back at him, her eye wide with fear, her breath coming in harsh pants. He glances over her, groaning and wincing when he catches sight of the branch buried in her side, blood gushing from the wound.

"Oh, Peach," he says, patting her mane.

She whinnies softly, shifting a bit as she tries to stand. She can hardly move at all.

He covers his face with his hand, stifling a cry, then looks around. They must have fallen into some sort of ravine—there is the brook babbling peacefully a few feet away like Peaches isn't dying and Jim hasn't just lost the only thing…

He shakes his head and tries to move, hissing when the movement brings his pinned leg back to his attention.

"You've gotta move, honey," he says, putting his hands on her and trying to get her off of his leg. "I know it hurts, but it'll all be over soon, okay? That's a good girl, just a little more."

She settles back down, watching him as he massages feeling back into his leg. He ignores the unnatural angle of his ankle.

He moves so he's on his knees and draws his dagger from the sheath on his hip. "I'm going to make it stop hurting, okay? I'm going to make it stop, hush, there's a good girl." He clenches his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut as the knife plunges into her heart. She lets out a short scream, twitches once, and goes still under his hands.

A sob forces its way out of his throat. He pulls the knife back out and wipes it off on his pants. He pats her body and closes her eye, and has to use her to stand up. He looks around for something to lean on, to use to walk, because he can't stay here crying over a horse. He has to get back to the Academy; has to warn the Masters and save Bones.

But first he has to start moving.

The first two sticks he grabs crumble the moment he puts weight on them. The third is too thick and heavy to be of any real use.

He leans on the next one gingerly. It is wobbly, but usable. It will have to do, for now, because his ankle has started throbbing.

Makeshift crutch in hand, he lifts his head. He squints in a random direction, hoping to catch sight of some recognizable landmark. There is none.

He kneels back down, using the cane to draw runes in the moss. He closes his eyes and pulls on the smallest amount of magic as he can manage. He notes the direction of the arrow the spell has provided and cuts the magic off.

He straightens again.

He takes his first step and wonders about the chances of someone happening upon him before he gets to the Academy or passes out.

Hours pass as he trudges and limps home. The sun begins to rise. A branch cracks loudly somewhere in the distance, startling him so much that he steps down hard on his injured foot. The pain is so strong he falls to the ground, vomiting until all he can do is dry heave.

He takes a few gulped breaths of air and wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his tunic. He coughs, the sour smell of bile stinging his nose.

He stands and walks, slower than before as his ankle's protests are echoed by his empty stomach.

The forest thins, the Academy coming into sight.

He realizes that the orange hue in the sky is coming from the fires licking at the Academy's walls, not the sun.

He walks faster, too intent on the Academy to pay attention to the pain in his ankle.

He comes to the first body long before he reaches the Academy. A man in Journeyman's robes lies prostrate, the rich purples stained red as blood seeps out into the grass.

More bodies litter the ground as he continues.

He has just entered the city proper when he trips and collapses, elbow cracking against the cobbled street. Starts to get back up, but is halted by the sound of loud, steady footfalls. His eyes are open, staring into the gray face of a fallen townsman. Someone—some _thing_ —passes into his peripheral vision, and his breath catches in his throat.

For a moment he thinks it is the beast that killed Olson, but it comes closer and he sees that its fur is lighter, doesn't have the same burn scars that haunt his dreams. Its mouth draws up and back over its fanged teeth, a grating snarl rumbling in its throat. With something akin to a yelp it pulls back.

"Away, Iarr'voi," a voice says. There is a sound like a chain rattling, louder than it ought to be in the unnatural silence of the town. "We must regroup with the army and return to finish off these Midlander scum."

"I think he wants to make a meal of that one, there," another voice says, snickering.

"He will get his meal back at camp, as will we," the first voice says. "Eating that filth will make you ill."

Someone snickers. The beast comes close enough for one final, angry sniff in his face before it turns and follows its companions.

He lets out a breath and feels himself relax, though he shakes as he pushes himself back to his feet. He begins moving again, keeping his focus on the street in front of him. He doesn't want to see the chaos around him; the bodies, the fires and, inexplicably, the ice winding throughout parts of the street. When he nearly slips on an ice-covered puddle, he allows himself to look up. His eyes follow the frost lining some of the buildings. Icicles at the edge of the roofs melt as the fires spread.

The Academy has taken the worst hits. Chunks of the walls are missing, and one of the high watchtowers is spread out on the road. A small hand peeks out from beneath the rubble.

"Kirk? Kirk, is that you?" He doesn't recognize the voice (it's female, though, so he's probably fucked her before), but someone catches him as he begins to fall.

"Romulans," he says. "It's Romulans, they…got Bones, they…they're…"

"Gone, Kirk." It's Uhura's voice. She's not the one holding him up, though, because the person holding him up is very male and very, very hot. "They've already come and gone. You're filthy, Kirk, where have you been?"

"In the woods with Bones," he says. "He—"

"Did you go gallivanting after them to try and play hero?" Her face pulls into a disgusted expression that makes the cut on her forehead stand out against her skin. "Gods, Kirk…"

"Bones is in trouble, Uhura, we've got to help him."

"We just lost half the student population, Kirk," Uhura says. "Have some fucking decency—no one has time to go running through the woods for one man. We have to deal with the Romulans, first."

"The Romulans are the ones that have him, dammit, _listen_ to me." He tries to pull away from the guy, stumbling and nearly taking the guy with him to the ground. "The damn horse is dead and they took him and I don't fucking know where he is, okay, but he's in trouble and we've gotta find him."

"Junior Apprentice, your language is unwarranted and quite impolite," the person holding him says. "Perhaps if you would desist in acting so illogically, Nyota would be more inclined to listen to your…hysterical rambling."

"I'm not hysterical, you fucking—let go of me."

"Jim? Gods, what did you do?" Gaila, thank the gods. She'll listen.

"Gaila." He grabs her shoulders, though he's still forced to lean against Uhura's asshole friend. "They have Bones. The Romulans that set that thing on us and killed Olson; I swear to the gods I'm not making this shit up, okay. They've got him and they're planning to come back here and we've gotta get him back."

"Shit." Bless her—there is hardly a pause before she begins acting on his behalf. "Scotty, help Mr. Spock get Jim to the Healer's Wing. I'm going to go alert the Masters."

Someone else (Scotty) grabs him, helping lift him, and they start moving again.

"Alright, Kirk, start from the beginning," Uhura says, glaring at him with faint distrust.

It all comes out in a frenetic jumble of words. "I was teaching Bones to—dammit, could you not jerk me around, you damn pointy-eared ass—ride a horse, because he's scared and all, and suddenly this big group of Romulans shows up out of nowhere, and—"

"You should slow your speech patterns, or we shall be unable to understand you," the man Jim assumes is Mr. Spock says.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, partly to try and calm himself down and partly to keep himself from punching the guy. "Me and Bones. Horse riding lessons. Romulans. Peaches—the horse—got spooked and they saw us, and when we went to get away she reared up and Bones fell off. And then they were chasing us, and we fell down this ravine, and when I woke up I had to fucking kill her. I guess they thought I was dead, but they've definitely got Bones. Fuck, Bones." He groans out the last sentence as he lets his head loll forward. Then he hisses with pain as the two men lift him up onto a cot, Uhura signaling for a Nurse.

"What's going on?" a blond Nurse asks as she bustles over to the group, turning her formidable gaze onto Jim. "Weren't you and Healer McCoy going riding, today?"

"It's a long sto—" He squints at her. "Who are you, again?"

She rolls her eyes. "I'm Christine Chapel, the Nurse who actually won't let you under her skirt," she says. "And don't give me that bullshit—did you do this to yourself on a horse, or did you get caught in the raid? Is McCoy alright? Why isn't he bitching at you right now?"

"I'll explain while you put him back together, Nurse," Uhura says, lips drawn to one side like she's trying to stifle a laugh.

Chapel nods, and begins healing Jim with the same brusque but experienced hand for which Bones was famous (infamous?), hardly taking her eyes off of his wounds even while she pays rapt attention to Uhura. When she has finished, she fixes them all with a glare she definitely learned from Bones—the impatient and mildly horrified one.

"So when are we leaving?" she asks.

"Leaving?" Scotty repeats.

"We're going after McCoy, aren't we?" She scowls at the blank stares that greet her question. "You don't actually mean to tell me we're just going to leave him?"

"Such a plan of action would be highly illogical," Spock says. "The Masters will surely select a team of eligible candidates to repel the Romulan forces and rescue Healer McCoy."

"By the time they've done that, the Romulans might have already gotten sick of him and slit his throat," Jim says, flexing his newly healed foot. "Hell, I've wanted to do it a few times, and I'm kind of attached to him. A bunch of Northerners with a Magician at their mercy…there's no telling what they'll do to him, even if he's only a Healer."

"The majority of persons in this party have not completed so much as two years at the Academy," Spock says. "We are hardly the most efficient team to attempt a rescue mission, particularly one that will involve going against one of the most militarily advanced nations on the Northern Continent."

"But we've got more motivation than anyone else," Jim says.

"And you might be surprised what a bunch of Apprentices can do when they're of a mind, Mr. Spock," Scotty says. "Have you not heard what this one and his crew did to that beast in the Southern Canyons?"

"At the loss of one of their companions." By the slight twist of his expression just after the words have been said, even he realizes he has gone too far. He keeps going, though. "And this will not be a lone Set'leth that has given way to madness—this will be an army of trained soldiers."

"That doesn't fucking matter," Jim says. "It's Bones."

"McCoy is too damned fine a Healer to lose to a bunch of Romulans just because of bureaucracy and cowardice," Chapel says.

"It is not cowardice that should stay your hand, but practicality," Spock says, but his eyebrows twitch ever-so-slightly. Jim thinks he can see the tiniest hint of a smirk tugging at the edge of the stoic man's lips. "We have already been given a taste of what the Romulans are capable of," he nods his head at the hole in the wall a few feet away, "and this was accomplished by only a small contingent of their main forces. Should that not suffice to stop you, I would estimate that our chances of victory would rise by fifteen point eight nine three percent should we recruit at least two of our fellows."

"And if we were to recruit them? What would our odds of victory be?" Uhura asks.

Spock frowns. "Unfavorable, still."

Jim wonders, by the way Uhura's eyebrows rise, if Spock's dodgy answer is as bad a sign as he thinks it is.

"However," Spock continues, tilting his head to one side, "they are not, perhaps, insurmountable."

(YOUCALLTHISAPAGEBREAK?)

"They will camp near a source of water," that kid Journeyman, Chekov, says as they sneak out of the back door of the wall surrounding the Academy.

"That puts them on the banks of the Capellan or somewhere along the Deltan River," Sulu says. "If you ran into them near the pastures, I'd say the Deltan's our best bet. The Capellan is smaller and runs closer to the school; closer to the watchtowers."

"They may assume we'd look at the Deltan They could be camping at the Capellan to throw us off," Jim says. "I think we should go there."

"They are not expecting anyone to come to them," Spock says. "No doubt they will assume that we are too busy recovering from their raid to pursue them at this juncture."

"We can split up," Gaila says. "Scotty and I will go with Jim, and the rest of you can go to the Deltan."

"I'll go with you, too," Chapel says. "To even the numbers out a bit."

"You're a Nurse and Jim's useless without McCoy," Uhura says. "That isn't even at all."

"If we find them, I'll be near enough to Bones to use magic," Jim says.

"Not if they've killed him," she says.

"Don't fucking say that, Uhura," he says. "Bones isn't dead, okay? I'd know if he was dead."

"Many Magicians do not notice when their focus has passed, if they are not in their immediate vicinity," Spock says.

"I would know," he insists.

"The longer we argue, the more chance there is that they _will_ kill him," Scotty says. "Let's just go; the four of us to the Capellan, the rest of you to the Deltan. We Techies can alert the other group if and when we find the camp, aye?"

"Fine," Uhura says.

"But no one attacks until the whole group is together. We're hardly going to stand a chance with all eight of us," Sulu says.

"Be careful," Jim says. "Seriously."

"As if we need _you_ to tell us that." Uhura rolls her eyes, then stalks off in the direction of the river without waiting for Spock, Chekov, and Sulu.

"Don't do anything stupid, Kirk." Sulu smirks at them, and then they disappear into the forest.

Jim exchanges a rather exasperated glance with Gaila—why does everyone act like he's the only person here with a reckless streak?—before starting for the Capellan River.

"Get down from there, Keenser, you damn barmy mutt," Scotty says, looking up into a tree where his focus has situated itself. "You're not a cat." The dog jumps to the branch of another tree. "Or a monkey! You'll get us caught!"

The dog jumps down, letting out a soft, almost indignant yip. Then it puts its nose to the ground and starting off down the path running along the stream. The four humans look at each other, then follow when the dog turns and growls at them.

They walk for what feels like hours before Keenser finally stops, tail going between his legs as he whines softly.

"They're up ahead, then?" Scotty asks, and Keenser lets out a huffy little growl.

"I will send a messenger," Gaila says, one of her tiny bots already flying off into the forest.

"So now we sit and wait?" Chapel asks, sounding as unsatisfied with the idea as Jim feels.

"Attacking now would be foolish," Gaila says as she hunkers down, readying herself for a lengthy wait. "Only two of our number can fight with any proficiency, and there is no guarantee that Healer Leonard will be able to aid Jim, or us, in his usual capacity."

"Aye, the lass is right," Scotty says. "Unless they begin to move, our best bet is to stay where we are until Mr. Spock and the others get here."

"Bones is somewhere up there," Jim says, starting upstream. Gaila grabs him.

"You will get us all killed," she says.

"Gaila, it's _Bones_ ," Jim says, and jerks away before she can answer, sprinting down the path. For a few minutes he just runs, more intent on getting to Bones than on thinking about what will happen after. His Command training won't be silenced for long, though, and he slows his feet.

Busting into a camp of a hundred plus Romulans isn't an option—not if he wants a chance at being alive when this is all over.

"No one is coming for you," a voice says from somewhere upstream. "The only person who knows where you are is dead."

He ducks into the brush lining the river. He hears a short yelp, then gurgling and splashing.

He moves forward, hugging the shadows cast by the bushes and rocks. He comes to the edge of a small clearing just in time to see one of the Romulans pulling Bones' face up out of the water.

He barely stops himself from running in. He looks past Bones and the Romulan torturing him. There are two soldiers immediately behind them. A small group of maybe ten or fifteen lounge around a fire a few feet further back, sharpening their swords and spears.

He can't see beyond them. Most of the forest beyond the river is so thick he wonders how they got this far, especially in the armor they all wear. The easiest way for them to travel would be by the river, but they must have found paths large enough for their horses and those Set'leth monsters.

He takes a moment to appeal to whatever gods will listen and sketches a few choice runes into the ground.

The Romulan shoves Bones underwater again, and Jim stands.

"Leave him alone," he says, and invokes the runes as the Romulans jump up and start toward him. The water of the river rises up and comes down on the first Northerner like a tidal wave, pushing him into the others. It sweeps the whole group up past the hill and out of sight, although one of them hits a tree and stops moving.

Jim runs to Bones' side and helps him up. He gives Bones just a moment to stop choking up water. He pulls Bones back down the path.

"Dammit, Jim, what're you doing here?" Bones coughs as he is dragged downstream. "Where are the Masters? You're going to get yourself killed, you damn stupid idiot!"

"Nero! The prisoner—we've been discovered," sputters one of the Northerners behind them.

"I'm not here alone, Bones, and the Masters…well, they know, anyhow," Jim says. "Didn't stick around to wait for them to get up off their asses and decide the best way to go about this."

"You should have," Bones says, looking back to the clattering sound of metal armor as the first Romulan leads the others after them. The angle of his head lets Jim see a big, angry bruise on his cheek that makes Jim's blood boil. "By the gods, Jim, what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking they'd kill you the minute you opened that loud mouth of yours," he says. "I was thinking I might lose you, Bones, and I can't—shit, man, don't you know I—"

"Duck," Gaila says as she runs toward them, some sort of circular device in her hands. Jim kicks Bones feet out from under him and covers their heads with his arms. Gaila lobs the device as the first of the Romulans come into throwing range.

It detonates, forming a metal net that wraps around the first few Romulans and tangles around the feet of those right behind them.

"Let's get to the forest," Scotty says. He cuts through the ropes around Bones' wrists and grabs one of each of their arms.

They start running almost as soon as they reach the trees. Scotty yanks them to one side after they've gone a few feet in, giving them a lopsided grin when Bones snaps at him to watch it.

"You don't want to step there, lads, trust me," Scotty says. As if to prove his point, there is an explosion behind them that almost knocks them over.

"What the fuck was that?" Jim asks.

"Left a few little parting gifts for our northern friends," Scotty says, and lets go of their arms. "Just follow Gaila and you'll be fine."

Bones says something under his breath that Jim can't quite make out. Jim grabs his hand and speeds up after Gaila, pulling Bones after him. Scotty falls behind them, creating more droids with the shrapnel flying up from the explosions the Romulans are setting off. Chapel joins them a little farther in, running next to Bones.

"You okay, McCoy?" she asks, ducking to avoid a branch.

"I can run," Bones says shortly. She snorts.

"The last of the traps is up here," Gaila says, swerving to the right. They trail behind her, and hear another explosion a few moments later.

"There they are," Chekov's voice comes from a little ways behind them.

"Shit," Jim says, skidding to a halt. "This way. Fucking run!"

He looks back and sees one of the frontrunners from the Romulan army already locking swords with Sulu. Spock throws a potion at the others that explodes.

Jim crouches and draws a few hasty runes into the forest floor, holding Bones' hand tight in his as he invokes them. The ground ripples, then opens up just past Spock and the others so no more of the army can immediately reach them. Spock, Chekov and Uhura start running as Sulu dispatches his Romulan, kicking him into the pit. He shoots a fire spell at the few remaining Romulans in his reach and breaks into a sprint.

Gaila and Scotty send droids to hold back the first Northerners to go around the pit, giving the other Magicians time to catch up with them before everyone starts running, again.

"Good to see you again," Jim says.

"Shut up and run, Kirk," Uhura says, spitting out his name.

"Run faster," Chekov says. He is quite a bit ahead of them, leaping over a fallen tree like a deer. "Not much far—"

A gut-wrenching yell tears from Chekov as a Set'leth rams into him, jaws clamping down on his side. Gaila screams.

Chekov lifts his hand. Before he brings it down, metal swarms his fingers. He chokes on a cry of pain as he strikes at the beast's head. The beast sinks its teeth deeper, and Chekov's cry breaks. It releases Chekov with a sickening squelch, and raises a paw to finish him off.

"Stand down," Nero's voice orders from behind them.

It freezes, but Sulu doesn't. He darts forward, driving his sword up into the beast's skull. An arrow runs through his right shoulder and into the tree behind him with a sickening thump, the force of it causing him to step back. His heel hits an upraised root and he falls back onto the ground next to Chekov.

A group of mounted Romulans appears in the forest ahead of them. The one at the front is lowering a crossbow, sneering at them.

"I said stand down," Nero says, glaring at Sulu.

Sulu curls his lip in reply.

Bones tugs at Jim's hand, trying to get to the two men lying on the ground. Jim tightens his hold so Bones can't move. His arm is tired—if Bones wasn't just as drained he could probably break away. They're all breathing hard, sweat staining their tunics. One of Jim's legs cramps.

"In a few minutes," Nero says, eyes zeroing in on Jim, "I'm going to finish off the little one."

Bones jerks behind Jim.

"Unless?" Jim asks, hoping to buy them some time. There's got to be something they can do to get out of this shit hole.

"Unless you tell me the defenses your precious Academy is setting up right now," Nero says.

"Why do you think we know?" Jim asks. He looks at Uhura, trying to catch her eye.

"After I kill the little one, I'll kill the Easterner," Nero glances at Sulu, eyes narrowing.

"On my signal, throw up a wall," Jim says under his breath, lips barely moving. Then, louder, he says, "I asked why you think we know the Academy's defenses? It's not like they've been preparing us for an attack like this."

"I think," Nero says as Jim repeats his order to Uhura, "that now I'm giving anyone in your little group who does know the plans one minute before Ayel puts an arrow in the little one's heart."

Chekov takes in a sharp breath, although Jim isn't sure if it's because of Nero or because he's in pain. From the corner of Jim's eyes, he sees Uhura nod her head ever-so-slightly.

He squeezes Bones' hand again, then releases it and says, "Now!"

The ground around them explodes upward as Bones drops to his knees by Chekov. The wall curves overhead, shrinking the sunlight to a beam before closing it off completely. An arrow pierces the wall uncomfortably close to Chekov and Bones. Jim starts drawing and invoking runes in the earth, strengthening the wall.

"Going to be fine, kid," Bones says. Sulu cries out and Chapel snaps at him to shut up. "Jim, I can't heal him all the way."

"Just enough for us to move him," Jim says, casting a spell to shoot the newest volley of arrows back at their bowmen. "We just need to get back to the Academy, that's all."

He reaches out to sketch more runes into the wall, but pulls back. The wall has gotten so cold it almost burned his fingertips.

"Ra'kholh," Nero says loudly.

There is a harsh bird call from somewhere above them. Uhura's wall shatters like glass hitting a stone floor. A fierce-looking bird shrieks triumph to the skies as it flies past Jim's head.

"I thought Northerners hated magic," Scotty says.

The Romulans that finished breaking down the wall part to make a path. Nero strides toward them with ice and dirt crunching under his feet, echoing in Jim's head like a death knoll. As the dust clears they finally set eyes on the sneering face of the man attacking them.

"That does not mean we are incapable of using it."


	5. Part V

Nero steps on Chekov's wrist as he advances. Bones lurches to his feet, pushing Nero away from Chekov. Nero grabs his arm, twisting violently.

Bones tries to pull away, tries to hit Nero with his other hand.

Nero's eyes flash.

Bones cries out as the cloth around Nero's hand shatters and falls to the ground. The skin revealed is quickly blackening and riddled with cracks.

Jim grabs a piece of the rubble that was once his wall and hits Nero over the head with it.

Ayel roars with fury as the Romulans descend upon the students. Jim tries to erect another barrier. He has hardly begun to etch his first rune when Ayel knocks him onto his back.

Ayel swings his broadsword down and Jim rolls. It sinks into the ground as he finds his hands and knees. Before Ayel can recover, Jim lashes out with his foot and kicks Ayel in the face. Ayel falls, and doesn't get back up.

He's still alive, though, and Jim lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Nero lets out an enraged shout and throws himself at Jim. A very big, very sharp icicle forms into a sword in his hand.

It's all Jim can do to fend him off, his hunting knife absurdly small in his hand. Ice chips fly into his face as the two weapons clash. One fleck lands in his eye and he cries out. The moment of shock is all Nero needs to knock the dagger from his hand.

He leaps for it as it skitters across the ground, sliding in icy mud. He rolls over, trying to trace runes into the clay. He barely has the first one drawn when Nero's foot comes stomping down on his arm, holding it in place. Jim struggles, beating his fist against Nero's leg. Nero raises his sword.

"Jim!"

He looks up, his gaze locking on the arm stretched out above his chest.

Bones makes a quiet, strangled noise.

The icicle has gone almost all the way through. Jim can see the tip of it poking out from the underside of Bones' arm. Nero lets out a snarl, jerking on his end of the icicle. Jim can't do anything but gasp as the motion breaks off Bones' arm at the elbow. The flesh shatters. Bones' skin and muscle skitter over Jim like macabre snowflakes.

Bones falls back on his flanks.

Jim twists and tucks his shoulder, catching Nero around the knees. The icicle and the remnants of Bones' arm are knocked from the man's hand. He grabs the icicle before Nero can recover it. Nero's armor impedes his movement, and Jim takes advantage. He gets to his knees while Nero struggles to turn over. Before Nero can try to defend himself, he stabs at the space between Nero's chest plate shoulder plate. There is a sickening squelch. Nero falls back, a look of shock etched into his face.

The bird from before—Nero's focus—lands on its master's chest, near the rapidly melting blade. It throws its head back and screams. Were it human, Jim thinks it might cry.

A Romulan yells something Jim can't understand. He turns to fend off whatever attack is coming.

He doesn't have to.

A large battle bot rips through the attacking Romulan.

The Masters burst into fray, a small contingent of Graduates closely following them.

Jim will never quite remember what happened after that. He'll remember crawling over to Bones and fending off what Romulans make it past the Masters. He'll remember Sulu's sob of relief after it's all over and Master Boyce announces Chekov will survive.

Mostly he'll remember pulling Bones up into his arms, what's left of Bones' arm caught between them.

"Shit, Bones," he says. "What were you thinking?"

"I figured you were worth one lousy arm," Bones says, voice cracking partway through the statement. His face is ashen, tears already leaving tracks along his dirty cheeks.

"You're so fucking stupid." He tries to laugh, but it comes out as a sob. "What're you gonna do without your arm, huh?"

"I don't know," Bones says, and the words come out sounding so lost that it's all Jim can do not to break down. He can't break down right now—not any more than he already has. "I don't…don't know."

He bites his lip so he won't cry out. "We'll figure it out," He says. "We'll figure something out."

(YOUCALLTHISAPAGEBREAK?)

The next few days almost make Jim wish he was still on the battlefield. He catches what seems to be only a few moments of sleep in between meetings with the Council of Masters. The meetings range in tone from congratulatory to downright caustic, the Masters torn between commending him for bravery and throwing him out of the Academy for his brash behavior.

They eventually settle for what amounts to a slap on the wrist—a week's suspension. Of course, they then proceed to throw a banquet in his honor and present him and the other members of his little troupe with awards, so even that small punishment is wasted.

Not that any of it matters. If it was up to him he would have skipped all of it in favor of taking up residence in the chair at Bones' bedside, where he spends every spare moment the Masters give him.

Of course, this leaves him without much time to sleep, and Medical's chairs are damned uncomfortable. By the fourth day into his suspension he looks like he got into a fight wherein both eyes were blackened. Chapel waylays him with a sedative, claiming to be helping although Jim is convinced she just enjoyed attacking him.

He dreams about Bones losing his arm.

In the dream the battle is at a standstill, Ayel holding Jim back as Nero puts Bones' arm over a rock and cuts it off with a hacksaw. At first he can hear the grinding of metal against flesh and bone, but that is soon drowned out by Bones yelling—for help, for mercy, and, eventually, for death.

He tries to get away from Ayel; tries to tell Bones he will stop this and save him.

And then he is standing over Bones, and the saw is in _his_ hand, and Bones is crying ' _You_ _did_ _this,_ _you_ _did_ _this!_ ' and there is blood everywhere. The saw is slick with it, slipping in his hand, but no matter how he tries to stop he just keeps cutting and cutting and—

He wakes up, trembling and sobbing and gasping for breath, Bones' name on his lips.

Someone is sitting up next to him, stroking his hair in a way that should feel patronizing but is soothing, instead. He wraps his arms around them, hiccupping, and feels more than hears them chuckle, a soft, snuffling little sound.

He glances up. Bones is looking down at him, smiling sympathetically. More importantly, he is _alive_.

He reaches up and runs a hand over Bones' face, his back and shoulder protesting the awkward movement. He ignores the discomfort, focusing on the feeling of Bones whole and alive under his hand. Emits a shaky sigh at the feeling of Bones' scruffy, unkempt beard and the worry lines on his forehead (the ones Jim probably gave him) and the way he leans into Jim's hand like he needs this reassurance just as much as Jim does.

But then Jim looks down and sees the bandages around Bones' elbow. Sees the way Bones' arm just stops, there.

"It's okay, Jim," Bones says, but his hand has stilled on Jim's head, and he has begun trembling in Jim's arms.

Jim face crumples, and he cries until a nurse comes in and sedates him, again.

When he once again wakes from his sedative-induced (but exhaustion-driven) nap , he is still in Bones' bed, though Bones untangled Jim's arms at some point.

Bones is already (still?) awake, speaking in low tones with someone else. It takes Jim a moment to recognize Master Boyce's voice, and a moment more to realize there is a third person in the room.

"Aye, Healer, we've got high hopes for it. Might take some fiddling around, but we'll have you back to work soon enough," Scotty says.

"Today wouldn't be soon enough," Bones says with a snort. "I've been wasting away on this damned bed like some sort of invalid for almost a week, now."

"And if it wasn't for me, you might not even have that much," Boyce says. "You know damn well that a Healer's all but useless without both hands. I've practically brawled with some of the Masters to keep you here. Hell, if Journeyman Scott hadn't shown up with this half-cocked idea of his, they probably would have insisted you leave."

"They couldn't make me leave even then." Bones twitches a little when Jim's hand sneaks up to rest on his leg beneath the blankets, squeezing comfortingly. "I'm still Jim's focus even if…even if I can't be a Healer, anymore."

"He nearly got himself thrown out, too," Boyce says with a snort. "I think Pike's nearly argued himself hoarse."

"Jim saved my life," Bones says, his entire body tensing under Jim's hand. "He saved all of our lives."

"It could easily have gone the other way." A chair creaks as Boyce sighs. Bones takes a breath, but Boyce doesn't let him continue the debate. "Enough, Apprentice. I have had enough arguing, and I see no reason to fight with you when we are both in perfect agreement."

"Yes, sir," Bones says.

"Journeyman Scott, if you would continue explaining your proposal," Boyce says.

"Aye, sir," Scotty says. "We'll only be taking preliminary measurements today, you understand, Healer McCoy. Over the next few weeks we'll build you a new arm, as close to the old as we can get it. Once they're done, we'll amputate what's left of your forearm and attach the new arm here, at your elbow." Scotty points at the area in question, as if no one in the room knows where an elbow is located.

"I will be choosing a team of Healers to aid me in attaching it," Boyce says. "Journeyman Scott has already asked Junior Journeyman Chekov to act as the other Techie in attendance. There's no telling how long it will take, or what sorts of infections will attempt to take hold whilst we work."

"Nurse Chapel is particularly adept at warding off infections during surgery," Bones says.

Boyce chuckles. "Got your eye on her, do you? She's a fine woman."

"She's a fine Nurse," Bones says. Jim doesn't have to see his face to know he's scowling. "I'll not put myself through another marriage to a Nurse, thank you kindly."

"I suspect your heart is already taken, in any case," Boyce says cryptically. "But no matter—I'll keep her name in mind for the team."

"You understand, of course, that this might not work," Scotty says, interjecting himself back into the conversation. "We'll have to find a good metal to use, and even then it's anyone's guess how your body will react to it. And there's absolutely no guarantee that, if everything else goes right, you'll be able to use magic to the same extent. At all, really. Hell, you might not even be as mobile as you used to be."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you being so optimistic, Techie," Bones says.

"It's just that we've never completely replaced an arm like this, before," Scotty says. "I don't want you getting your hopes up too high, just in case it doesn't work out."

"I know," Bones says. "You think I don't know?"

"'Course not," Scotty says.

"Stop taking everything personally, McCoy," Boyce says with a derisive snort. "And start getting used to keeping your opinions to yourself. These next few weeks are going to be hell, between making and attaching the damned thing and convincing the Masters you can heal with it. It might well be a year before you can continue your studies."

"I will, sir," Bones says, although he sounds distinctly unhappy about it.

"I wouldn't worry too much, son." Boyce's voice has softened ever-so-slightly. "A good number of your Apprentice- and Junior Journeyman-level courses were waived, seeing as how you were licensed down in the Southern Continent. This shouldn't set you too far back, as far as the Academy's three-year Healing track is concerned." A pause. "You should still graduate with your boy, there, if he was serious about graduating in three years."

Bones lets out a huffy little puff of air. "Yes, sir."

Boyce's chair scrapes across the floor as he stands. "I'll leave you to it, Techie." He starts for the door, but then pauses. Turning back, he frowns. "I hope he was worth it, McCoy."

Bones' hand covers Jim's. "I'd do it again."

"Well, then, I'm off for another round with the Masters," Boyce says, and leaves.

"You can stop pretending to be asleep, now, Jim," Bones says after a moment's pause.

"Were we not supposed to know he was awake?" Scotty asks.

"It doesn't really matter either way, Scotty," Jim says as he sits up, yawning. "What am I doing in your bed, Bones?"

"Chapel was telling us stories about it over dinner, yesterday," Scotty says, chuckling. "Seems you kicked up such a fuss in any other bed that they decided it was less trouble to just put you there."

"Even sedated you're an annoying son of a bitch," Bones says with a snort. "And I damn well hope you're all rested up, now, seeing as how you slept for two goddamned days."

"Two _days_?" Jim asks.

"Like a wee lad, once you were here," Scotty says.

"Shit," he says, leaping out of the bed. Straightening his horribly crumpled tunic (gods, how long has he been wearing this thing?), he gives Bones an accusing look. "Why didn't anyone wake me up? I must've missed a ton of meetings with the Council, and—"

"Jim, sit back the fuck down," Bones says. "Pike took care of the Council, and shame on them for keeping you on your feet for so long. The sedative Christine gave you should have worn off after an hour, but you didn't wake up until today, for the gods' sakes."

"Humph." Jim sits back down on the edge of the bed.

"Don't be such an infant," Bones says, smacking his arm lightly.

"How's everyone else? Gaila?" He asks.

"They've been up and about since before you were put under," Scotty says. "Gaila's already working on her next project: crafting a lightweight armor for students that's to be worn between our travel tunics and undershirts."

"No one's done that before now?" Jim asks, eyes widening when Scotty shakes his head. "Seriously?"

"Everyone thought magic was enough of a shield," Scotty says with a shrug. "We Techies, in particular, always have scrap metal with us to use in our magic. Until now it didn't occurred to us that the rest of you were largely unprotected."

Jim shakes his head. "Well, good on her."

"It's about time we Magicians got our heads out of our asses," Bones says gruffly.

Scotty laughs, then stands. "Well, let me get some of the initial measurements, and then I'll be on my way." He looks down and says sharply, "Keenser, get out from under the bed and give me my damn measuring tape."

His dog darts out of its hiding place, bounding up onto his recently abandoned chair and using that as a springboard to get up onto the bed. Then it crouches, tail wagging as it sets the tape on the bed and waits for Scotty to try to grab it.

"We don't have time for this, you useless mutt," Scotty says, wagging his finger. "And get down from there! The good Healer has no need for your nasty self mucking up his bed!"

The dog flops down on its back.

"I didn't say to roll—blast it, Keenser, you know better," Scotty says as he grabs the measuring tape. Then, huffing, he turns to Bones. "I'll need measurements of both your arms, Healer. Sometimes people ain't as symmetrical as bots, and I'd like to have this new arm as close to the old as possible."

"You can just call me McCoy," Bones says even as he holds out his (whole) left arm. "Until we see if this arm takes hold, I'm not a Healer, anymore."

Scotty snorts as he takes the measurements. "You'll be hard pressed to find anyone around here who won't call you by your title, Healer." He writes something down on a small pad of paper he pulls out of one of his pockets. "Other arm, please. Even if you don't get your license to practice as a capital-H Healer back, I can't see you giving up the trade entirely. Healing's who you are, not what you do."

Bones doesn't say anything for a long time, watching silently as Scotty finishes jotting down his notes. "We'll see, I suppose."

"I'll be on my way, then," Scotty says with something of a mock salute. "Healer. Captain."

And then he's gone, Keenser skittering along after him.

"Captain?" Jim asks, frowning.

"They're all calling you that, now," Bones says. "Even that bastard Spock—he said something about it being logical to show your support of someone even in so small a way…" He trails off, waving his arm dismissively. "I don't know, I think he's been experimenting with toxic potions and breathing the fumes."

"Huh," Jim says.

"Are you finally awake, then?" Chapel asks as she breezes in. "Does this mean I can finally kick you out of Medical?"

"Please do," Bones says, already trying to stand.

"I was talking to Jim," she says haughtily, pushing him back down before his feet can so much as graze the floor. "You, Healer McCoy, are still on bed rest until further notice."

"I can rest just as easily in my own damn room," Bones says as he brushes her hand away. "I'm just wasting space, here."

"I can watch out for him, Chapel." Which earns him a glare from Bones that makes him smile in spite of himself. "Aw, come on, Bones, I can be responsible."

Bones doesn't even deign to respond, the cantankerous old bastard.

"We could use the extra bed," Chapel says, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. "And technically he isn't sick, anymore…"

"He'll be fine," Jim says.

"He's right here," Bones says under his breath.

"Alright," Chapel says finally. She drops the hand that had been ready to force Bones back down onto the bed should he try to escape again. Then she scowls at him. "You just watch out for him, you hear me, Captain?"

Jim's feels his ears turn pink in spite of himself. He had thought Bones was joking about people calling him 'Captain'.

"You know I will, Chapel," he says.

"See that you do," she says. "He's far too good a Healer to lose because of something stupid." Then she turns for the door. "I'll just go get Healer M'Benga, so he can give the two of you one last look before you go."

She flounces out.

"A hell of a Nurse," Bones says quietly, flopping back in the bed.

"You just say that because she doesn't take any of your shit," Jim says, laughing.

"Yours, either," Bones points out with a snort. "And thank the gods for that. If I was the only person around here who dared deflate that giant head of yours, there'd be no room for anyone else in no time at all."

"At least it's a pretty head," Jim says brightly.

Bones rolls his eyes, but can't quite seem to suppress his laugh. "Case in point, Jim."

Jim just hums, laying back down beside Bones. They're both quiet.

"Just think, Bones," he says, waiting for Bones to look at him before continuing, "we've only been together for a year."

Bones smacks him in the face with a pillow.

(But he laughs while he does it, so Jim knows he really doesn't mind.)

The End


	6. Part V (Extra)

He has the nightmare again that night, after they've settled back into their dorm room. (The room feels small, like they've outgrown it, somehow. Bones doesn't say anything so Jim doesn't, either.)

This time he doesn't wake up during Bones' accusations. He continues sawing. Bones eventually gives up yelling, the sound of the saw taking up the entire dream space. Jim cries out once when he finally cuts through the last bit of flesh, the arm falling down to the ground with a soft thump. Then he is quiet, watching as blood seeps into the frozen ground and Bones' eyes go dimmer and dimmer until there is nothing left.

' _He_ _'_ _s_ _dead,_ _Jim_ ,' someone whispers in his ear.

And he wakes up, his body seizing for a moment.

"Jim?"

He forces his eyes open, blinking as they adjust to the dim light. They come to rest on Bones, who is looking at him from his bed across the room.

Jim stands, nearly tripping over his sheets as he all but falls out of bed and stumbles across the chilly wooden floor.

He leans down and puts his hand on Bones' cheek, guiding the other man's face up so their mouths meet somewhere in the middle.

Bones lets out a soft little sigh against his lips when they part. He reaches up to grab Jim's nightshirt and pulls him down onto the bed.

They kiss again as Jim's body settles over Bones', the action going from soft and reassuring to almost desperate in no time at all.

His breath hitches once, twice, three times, but he doesn't realize he's crying until Bones' thumb rubs a tear off of his cheek.

"Bones," he forces himself to say, nearly choking on the word. "Bones, Bones, Bones."

"It's okay, Jim," Bones says. He tries to wrap his arms around Jim, but the stub at the end of his right arm only serves to remind Jim of…of everything.

"Just let me," Jim says, grabbing the half-arm and kissing the bandaged end. "Let me, let me—"

"I'm alive," Bones says, carding his fingers through Jim's hair. "We're both alive."

Jim lets out a shaky sigh and nods, but doesn't stop kissing a trail up Bones' arm. He pushes Bones shirt up and off when he is stopped by the sleeve. He continues, detouring to kiss Bones on the mouth again before he starts down towards Bones' chest.

"I just want to be sure," he whispers against Bones' nipple. "Just…just want…"

"I'm here, Jim," Bones says a little breathlessly, arching up when Jim starts mouthing at the trail of hair leading to the band of his pajama bottoms. He gasps when Jim nuzzles his nose against the rapidly hardening bulge in his pants.

"I love you, Bones," Jim says, so softly he can hardly hear himself. He clears his throat and says it again, "I love you, Bones."

Bones nods as his head falls back, a groan pushing past his lips as he arches upward. Jim takes advantage of the movement to peels off his pants, smiling in spite of himself when Bones takes the cue and helps.

"I, I love," Bones tries to say, his own stuttering gasps interrupting him.

"Yeah?" Jim asks, gently nipping the inside of Bones' thigh.

Bones curses softly, wrenching his eyes open and tangling his fingers in Jim's hair, forcing him still. He waits until Jim meets his eyes, then says, "You, too, you damned sexual delinquent. I love you, too."

Jim's eyes flutter, something like magic thrumming through his veins. "Say it again," he says, then puts his mouth around the head of Bones' cock.

"Love you," Bones says, trembling. "Gods, Jim, I love you."

Jim moans loudly, then opens his throat up and swallows as much of Bones as he can manage.

"I'm not going anywhere," Bones says, trying to push Jim off. "You don't, don't have to…"

Jim moans again, because he doesn't want to pull away, not even to reassure Bones he's being silly. Instead, he draws away until just the tip is in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the head once before he deep throats it again.

"Jim, Jim," Bones says, like it's the only word he knows. Jim begins blowing him with the same enthusiasm he uses to do everything—more, even. His grip on Jim's hair tightens to the point of pain, so Jim reaches up and loosens it. He tangles their fingers together, instead. He throws his other arm over Bones' hips to keep him from moving thrusting up into Jim's mouth.

He looks up when Bones begins to come so he can see the way Bones' mouth falls open, head tipping back, eyes closing.

He swallows what he can and spits out the rest onto his sleeve. He makes a face at the mess, but he's hot anyhow so he strips off his shirt. He wipes his mouth once more, then tosses the shirt aside.

He's still hard when he falls down onto the bed next to Bones, but decides it hardly matters. That wasn't what this was about, after all.

Bones seems to have other ideas, pushing at his shoulder until he turns over Bones scoots forward until his front is pressed against Jim's back. He curls his good arm around Jim. His hand pushes down Jim's pants just enough to free his cock.

Jim moans as Bones spits into his hand and wraps it around Jim, tugging.

"Want to know what my other hand would be doing if I had it?" Bones voice in his ear makes him jump a little. "Jim?"

"Yeah?" Jim asks, although honestly he doesn't care. He knows what Bones' other arm is doing right now—pillowing his head, the stump just within his line of sight as if to remind him it's there. As if he needs a reminder.

"It'd be on your ass," Bones says with a gentle roll of his hips. Jim isn't sure if the moan that escapes him is in answer to the movement of Bones' hips or his hand or the sound of his goddamned sinful voice. "I'd have grabbed some of the oil from my bedside drawer already, so my fingers would be slick when they slipped into your pants."

"Gods, Bones," Jim says, hips jerking forward.

Bones hums into his ear. "Is that what you'd be saying when my first finger pressed into your hole, Jim?"

Jim lets out a small cry, nodding. "Yeah. Yes. Gods…"

"And I'd push it in and pull it out, curl it up so it hits your prostate," Bones says. "I'd add a second finger, and then a third, and you'd just take it, wouldn't you? You'd love the feel of my fingers in you."

He's thrusting into Bones' hand in earnest, now. "And then? Bones?"

"Then, once you're all slicked up and stretched out and you think you can't hold on anymore, I'd take my fingers out and replace them with a completely different part of my body." Bones moves his hips again. "And you wouldn't come yet, because you and I both know we ought to come together."

"Yeah," Jim says breathlessly, pressing back into him. "C'mon, Bones, please."

"But eventually," Bones voice is a hoarse whisper, now, "I'd tell you I'm getting close, and you wouldn't be able to hold back, anymore, because the thought of me filling you up would push you over the edge. Wouldn't it, Jim? Because you love thinking about it. You loved it the first night we were together, before you even knew me, and now it's all you can think about, sometimes."

Jim nods frantically, unable to articulate anything, anymore.

"So do it, Jim," Bones says, his breath tickling Jim's ear. His hand squeezes tight around Jim's dick. "Come for me."

He does, whiting out for a moment as his orgasm rips through him. When he comes back down, Bones has already stripped off his pants and started wiping Jim off with them. He waits until Bones has finished, then rolls over and grabs his face, searching him for something he doesn't even know he's looking for until he sees it.

"There's still magic in your eyes, Bones," he says, impossibly relieved to see those tell-tale flecks of gold. And he kisses him, because maybe that's what this is about, too. Making sure all of Bones is still here. "I'm so fucking glad."

"Yeah," Bones says, burying his face into the crook of Jim's neck.

Their legs tangle together as Jim wraps his arms around Bones, cheek resting on Bones' head. "I love you, Bones."

"You, too, kid." Bones shakes, and Jim feels something wet and hot against his skin—gods, how selfish has Jim been? Reassuring _himself_ when Bones is the one who might have lost everything?

It takes a long time, because Bones is crying and then Jim starts crying, but eventually they fall asleep.

Jim dreams of doing magic with Bones at his side.

 _All_ of Bones.


	7. Part VI (Epilogue)

The new arm becomes more of an ordeal than anyone had suspected.

The construction is difficult enough. It takes Scotty nearly a month to decide what sort of metal he wants to use for the 'bones', between finding one he likes and finding one Boyce doesn't immediately veto. Then he has to find something malleable enough to move and stretch like muscles. A resilient tubing to use for veins. Wires to act as nerves.

Scotty is forced to enlist Master Cochrane's help. Cochrane consults with Boyce, and Boyce starts talking to Bones about other options.

Jim won't let Bones settle for any of them.

In the end, five months pass before they can even consider how to go about attaching the arm.

The plan is for Boyce, Chapel, and another Healer Jim doesn't know to attach the arm. Scotty and Chekov will be on standby, just in case the arm starts malfunctioning.

They have to go through and painstakingly pick out and attach every ligament, vein, and nerve.

Two hours pass with hardly any progress. Even with the drugs Jim is certain the pained expression on Bones' face is going to leave deep lines in his face.

"We're causing him too much stress," Boyce says as Chapel wipes the sweat from Bones' brow. "I'm afraid he'll go into shock if we continue."

"You can't stop now," Jim says. "Healer Boyce, you can't do this to him. It's as good as a death sentence and you know it—this is the only thing that's kept him going all this time."

"Not the only thing," Boyce says, quirking an eyebrow at Jim.

Jim feels his cheeks heat up, shaking his head. "He'll never be happy if he can't be a Healer."

"It isn't just him, Kirk," Boyce says. "This is putting considerable strain on the Healers, too."

"If it was you in that bed, he wouldn't stop until you were healed," Jim says, jaw clenching.

"I know that, Apprentice." Boyce sighs and closes his eyes. Opening them again, he turns to the three Healers and says, "Healer M'Benga, cauterize his arm. Nurse Chapel, begin clean up. We will take an hour break, then decide whether or not McCoy can handle anything more."

At this point, Bones is too far gone to really know what's happening (Chapel must have given him some really good shit). He watches blearily as M'Benga cauterizes the wound, then lets out a soft breath and falls asleep like that's some sort of cue.

"You can sit with him until time for my assessment," Boyce says. He makes a few notes on the chart at the foot of Bones' bed. "I think now would be a good time for a lunch break—M'Benga, Chapel."

The two Healers follow. Chapel pats Jim's shoulder before stepping out of the room.

Jim stares after them. He turns and shakes his head, his face falling as he takes a seat beside Bones. Hesitantly, he touches the prosthetic hand.

Bones shifts, eyebrows furrowing. (And how is it even possible that Bones knows Jim is touching him, since the nerves in the artificial limb haven't been connected to the rest of him, yet?)

"Hush," Jim says, reaching up to smooth out the crease in Bones' brow. "You're going to be all right, Bones."

Slowly, Bones' face relaxes. Jim waits, and reaches forward to touch the metal frame of Bones' arm. Bones grimaces.

"I'm going to make sure they make you better, Bones," Jim says. The new hand warms as he holds it until he can almost pretend it is made of flesh.

He looks down at the bandages covering the cutoff point between arm and metal, swallowing to keep himself from throwing up. He closes his eyes tightly to keep himself from crying, but feels a tear burn its way down his cheek.

"I won't let them give up on you, okay, Bones?" His voice is thick. He stifles the urge to squeeze Bones' hand. "I'll keep things going on this end, so you just keep being the stubborn ass we all know you are."

Bones doesn't answer; doesn't so much as flinch. Jim stares at him for a long time.

When Boyce returns, Jim pats Bones' shoulder and leaves without a word.

(YOUCALLTHISAPAGEBREAK?)

Bones' new arm and hand, when the Healers finally finish growing it, looks like someone skinned his arm and painted it silver. It feels like something that belongs to a newborn baby, smooth and unnaturally warm. It's so weak at first that Bones can't so much as pick up a glass of water with it.

Boyce forces Bones to undergo a series of what seem to be very involved (and painful) tests. They check the arm's dexterity and strength, and whether it is at all capable of channeling magic. Bones usually comes back from the tests cradling the arm, stubbornly refusing any of Jim's help even though there are some things he just can't quite manage one-handed.

Three months after Boyce has given Bones' new appendage his tentative approval, the Masters test his magical ability.

Jim sits outside of the testing arena, leaning with his arms on his knees. One of his feet bobs up and down, causing the rest of him to shake.

"How is he?" Chapel asks as she sits down next to him. Scotty and Uhura sit across from them, but Gaila stays standing.

Jim glances up at them and shrugs. "His arm was hurting him this morning, I think." He looks at the door, then sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Or maybe he was just nervous."

"I don't know what he has to be nervous about," Gaila says, beginning to pace. "Healer Leonard has always been the best at what he does." She pauses and ruffles Scotty's hair, grinning. "And Scotty's handiwork _usually_ improves things."

"If he hasn't blown up by now, he's not going to," Scotty says. He clears his throat and gives Jim a sheepish look. "Not that I ever thought he would, mind."

Jim tries to smile but can't quite manage it. "He's going to be fine."

Chapel pats his back. "Of course he is. I've never met anyone more stubborn."

"Only because he has to keep up with _Kirk_ _'_ _s_ stubbornness," Uhura says with a weak smile at Jim. "All that running around trying to get you to admit you're hurt's got to count for something, right, Captain? Not to mention actually getting you to go to Medical."

Jim nods stiffly and puts his head in his hands, taking a deep breath. "I just don't want them to tell him there's no hope, you know? If they tell him he's got some more work to do but he can try again in a few months, he'll at least have something to work towards. I don't know what we're going to do if this is it."

Chapel puts an arm around his shoulders. He trembles under her arm, and she bites her lip. "He's going to blow them away."

Another nod, and Jim allows her to pull him into her embrace. Gaila crouches next to them, covering his hands with one of hers.

The door opens. They jump and turn to watch Bones exit the exam room.

He shuts the door and leans against it, making a soft choking noise before covering his face with an arm. He shakes, and they see tears drip down onto his tunic.

"Bones?" Jim asks, standing and going to Bones' side. "Bones, what happened? What did they say?"

Bones arm drops, and he gives Jim a smile that nearly splits his face in two. "I'm a Healer again," he says, and bursts into tears. "They said I can go back to class on Monday."

Jim lets out a happy exclamation and throws his arms around Bones' waist, picking him up and spinning him around. He sets Bones down and grabs Bones' face, pressing their lips together.

"Do not monopolize his attention," Gaila says, throwing her arms around both of them and planting chaste kisses on their mouths when they part to look at her. "Congratulations, Healer Leonard. I know how you have been looking forward to this."

"Thank you," Bones says.

"As long as you're giving out hugs…" Chapel says, squeezing her way in. "Might as well get one, now, before you revert back to the grumpy, ass-kicking Healer we all know and hate."

Jim says, "You guys have never hated him, don't lie," but Bones just lets out this strange laugh that sounds kind of like a sob and gives her a one-armed hug. (Bones really shouldn't look so endearing to Jim like this, with his nose running and his eyes red and puffy and tear trails running all over the crinkles in his cheeks, but he does. He really, really does, and it's all Jim can do to stop himself from leaning over and kissing Bones again.)

"What did we miss?" Chekov asks as he comes barreling around the corner, Sulu close behind. He slows, and Sulu collides with him. They tumble to the floor.

"I didn't go through all this work to be a Healer again just to scrape together your busted asses," Bones says, scowling down at them. "What do you think you're doing, running around like goddamned race bots at a summer festival? You could have seriously injured someone."

Chekov laughs and grins broadly up at Bones as he and Sulu pick themselves up. "I have missed your fussing, Healer."

Bones sputters for a moment and draws himself up, crossing his arms over his chest. "I've half a mind to leave you to heal on your own, you fire-blasted fools."

"They were only hurrying because they were worried about you, you know, Healer McCoy," Chapel says, hiding her smile behind a hand. "I'll heal them if you won't."

"I never said I wasn't going to heal them," Bones says quickly, shooing her out of the way as he frowns at the scrape on Sulu's hand.

"I wanted to be the first person you healed after you got approved by the Masters," Jim says, making a face.

"You actually aren't hurt, for once," Bones says, eyeing Jim suspiciously.

Jim pokes out his bottom lip, letting his eyes widen the way that has never really worked on Bones. "I don't get hurt that often, Bones."

"Captain, you spend an unprecedented amount of time in Medical," Spock says from nowhere.

Jim jumps. "Holy shit, Spock, could you not do that? I like having my heart inside my chest."

Spock arches an eyebrow at him.

"And shut up; I do not," Jim says.

"Jim, you've gotten injured on your way out of Medical, before," Bones says with a snort. "I'm sure that bot-faced cauldron boiler could give you an exact percentage," Spock frowns ever-so-slightly, "but even I could tell you that you spend at least twice as much time in Medical as any other student. Even those new Techie idiots Scotty keeps trying to get killed."

"I'll thank you to keep me out of this." Scotty holds his hands up defensively.

"Whatever," Jim says, sticking his tongue out at Bones. "Figures the only time you two would get along is when you're ganging up against me. If I was really a Captain this would be called mutiny."

"Didn't anyone ever tell you, kid?" Bones asks, his hand finding one of Jim's. "It's not mutiny if it's for your own good."

Jim wrinkles his nose and bumps their shoulders together while everyone else laughs. His hand tightens around Bones'. Even after three months the metal feels sleek and new under Jim's fingertips.

"Let's go to a pub and get drunk," Gaila says, threading her arm through Scotty's.

"This is why I'm so fond of you, lass," Scotty says.

Jim sees Spock give Uhura the long-suffering look he sometimes lets slip through his usual blank façade, but he still allows her to drag him after Gaila and Scotty when they lead the way out of the building.

Chekov and Sulu head off after them, too, but Jim hangs back. Bones looks at him, eyebrow quirked upward.

"I'm glad you can be a Healer, again, Bones," Jim says, letting his forehead drop onto Bones' shoulder to hide the tears springing to his eyes. "I'm so fucking glad."

"Me, too," Bones says. He nudges Jim and starts walking. "Reckon it's a good thing you wouldn't just leave it as a one night stand."

Jim can't suppress the smile that comes to his face. "I couldn't leave it. There was magic in your eyes."

"Oh?" Bones asks. "Is it back, now?"

Jim walks closer to Bones, their shoulders brushing together. "What do you mean by 'back'? It never left, Bones."

Bones laughs and leans over to kiss Jim's cheek.

The spark that ignites where their skin touches feels like magic.


End file.
